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mrsnancywheeler · 4 months

Text

midnight rain // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: finnick had pulled the plug on your relationship long ago, when he could no longer keep from you what he'd been forced into. but after you've returned victorious from your games, he knows you need him as the nightmares come for you each time you close your eyes.

chapter two

sequel

warnings: descriptions of gore, violence, character death, hurt/comfort, allusions to trafficking, secrets, inaccurate timeline, finnick might be ooc idk I'm not good at telling lmao, part one ??, unedited, ANGST, fluff, no use of y/n, pet names like angel and my love, the title will make more sense when I get all my ideas out in the possible next part, so long, I'm so sorry

2.9k words

Waking up in his arms is what saved you, every night when you were thrown back into that arena shivering in the cold, the warmth of him wrapped around you would guide you back to safety.

Safety.

Did you even have that? Comments made in passing by former victors and my Finnick’s attitude made your stomach turn. What truly lay ahead for you post the games? You couldn't focus on that yet though, right now you'd just have the muster up the courage to finish up the grand Victory Tour. Your reward for losing your humanity, for the blood staining your hands.

Finnick grumbled into your shoulder as he began waking from his own so-called rest, which you could only imagine became more torturous as time went on. Or not, maybe you'd become more numb to it as the present forced itself onto you rather than the ghosts of the past. Sunlight streamed down on his bronze skin, he nearly shimmered. It was as if the gods knew he deserved to be blessed with something for all the tribulations he faced.

“I'm supposed to be the one watching you sleep." His saccharine voice filled your senses like honey, the sound of sleep adding a rasp, in the mornings he was like honey and toast.

“Sorry I couldn't resist your charms and I didn't want to disturb your rest, golden boy." You smiled as he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Your rest is much more important, it's your Victory Tour. You've got people to face and impress, be the Capitol’s Princess." He said it with a smile you could melt for, but behind his tone you could sense bitterness. Unsaid words he wasn't ready to reveal to you, something that had broken you apart one, and then led him back to you, into his warmth.

“Finnick-" It was a hidden tone that terrified you. What had he been keeping locked behind those honey-dripping, sweet-talking lips for so long? When would he hand you the golden encrusted key to his secrets?

“Come on you need to get dressed, angel. You have impressions to make.” He didn't want to talk about it, he knew when you were trying to pry and wasn't ready to reveal what he kept hidden. You did need to get ready though, today was District 7, the allies you'd had to betray. Just the thought of it made you want to retreat further into the warmth of the bed, the blankets, of his arms but he was unwrapping himself from you without another word.

Maybe if he couldn't tell you were trying to make him reveal things he would be slower and gentler about preparing you for what lay ahead, but he didn't want to stare into your pleading eyes and spill his secrets. Which is why he'd torn himself from your love in the first place.

"Stay on the script, you did what you had to do to survive. Charm, but it's not the families you're doing it for, it's them.” Them, the Capitol, eagerly awaiting your filmed performance. You nodded as Finnick wrapped his robe around himself. He made no eye contact as he left the train car and you felt yourself running cold. You were alone again, with your thoughts, soon your Capitol assigned team of designers would be here to dress you up like a paper doll.

You were frail and delicate, but lethal when it came down to it. Your tears were iconic for fragile femininity, but manipulation to win against those with stronger senses. An image you still needed to abide by, even if you'd rather lay down and fall into your head for eternity, punishing yourself for it all.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There he stood, face firm as he readied the hatchet to slice straight through your brain.

“Birch, you don't really want me dead. We don't have to turn on each other, we can talk about it." You reasoned, tears brimming your eyelids.

“Why? Like how you were planning to talk to him about it too?" Birch nodded to the lifeless body nearby.

“He attacked me!" You defended, that would be the argument. The sweet tribute who had such a big heart, but did what she needed to survive.

“Because he knew you were trying to use him, sorry we couldn't all fall for your charms. All of us have homes, families to go back to. Of course I don't want you dead, but they need me.” He was pleading too and if you looked hard enough you could swear he was about to cry. Before you could say another word the hatchet flew from his hand and you dodged it just in time. Birch began sprinting towards you. If he got his arms around you there was no doubt he could snap your neck in a split second. His strength was one of the reasons he was such a good pick to ally with.

You were unsteady on your feet as you ran away, fumbling for something to throw, to block his advances. The hatchet had lodged itself into the ground not far from you, he knew you were going for it and the adrenaline was speeding him up. You grabbed it, stumbling forward as soons as it was within your grasp, turning forward. He was so close and paused a second. You'd be more dangerous close by then at a distance now, he'd helped you practice throwing different weapons in training which you were decent at. Decent enough to be a threat, decent enough that he regretted it, decent enough that you regretted it too, using his kindness to win against him.

But this was all too slow, he needed to either win or lose. So he gave up on the reason and barreled forward. You barely had enough time to think as you pounded forward as well, slicing into him, not deep enough to kill, but enough to injure, for him to stumble back a second. You didn't have time to take a second and thrusted the hatchet straight into his chest, definitely deep enough to kill. The sight of the blood trickling down his bottom lip as he fell backward blurred your vision. She was still left, you didn't have time to feel guilty yet you did.

“Mom, Laurel-” He choked out before he went completely stiff and the cannon rang out. Flashes of his mom and his little, 10 year old sister, shivering and shaking by her mother and his image stared with cold eyes at you. Giving your grand speech about his bravery and next thing you knew you were screaming.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Hey, hey it's okay. You're not there, you're right here. I've got you." Warm hands shook your shoulders as you woke with sobs wracking through your body.

That's the problem you thought your mind was racing awake, he had people to take care of you had selfishly picked your family over his, over all of there's.

“I know, I know, I've got you." Finnick enveloped you within his arms as you let your tears streak down his shoulder.

“How am I supposed to look at them, Finnick? How am I supposed to congratulate them for their child’s bravery when I took their babies away from them?” Your voice was creaky and louder than you'd expected.

He pulled you off his shoulder, facing you, his sea green eyes pouring into yours. “With a smile, this isn't about them, or for them. This is for Snow, you're still playing the game. I can't tell you it gets better, but you have to remember he's watching and you need to follow his rules." You nodded robotically, the old Finnick would have comforted you more. But, this Finnick was still recovering too and he was doing his job as a mentor. Keeping you safe from the vultures and their outrage if you didn't play the Capitol’s Princess good enough.

“Can you stay?" You whispered, even though he always did.

“Of course, angel." He pressed his warm lips to your forehead, engulfing you within his arms. You lay with him knowing if you fell back asleep with images of her family would echo within your soul, haunting your dreams. Finnick would ground you back, his comfort would stop you from screaming in the real world, keep your protected, but not the flashes of what you'd done. “You need to sleep, you have to do it all again tomorrow."

“I know." You wiped down a stray tear streaking down your face. He looked serene in the moonlight glow even if his eyes spoke a different tale. One of worry, one wondering how much longer until the waterfall poured himself out to you. “Finnick, I know things aren't the same between us, they haven't been, and I don't know if you even want them to be. But please, please don't ever leave me. I need you, to keep me from just floating completely away. To remind me why I won."

Your choppy voice broke his heart even more, he didn't know how much longer he could do this to you. He wanted to be as he had been for you, but the chains bore too heavy right now. There was too much on your plate to add more brutality to it.

“I would never even consider it, angel. I felt selfish for it, but you keep me grounded too. I'm sorry I'm doing this to you." His voice was softer than usual, wasn't as teasing, it was so pure, so lost.

“You're not selfish, Finnick. I know you've always just wanted to keep me safe, even if I don't know from what and you can tell me in your own time. I'll wait for you to come back to me."

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. You were so sweet, so in need of his protection. He couldn't let them do to you as they did to him, but there was nothing he could do to protect you except keep it away as long as possible.

“You need to try and rest, sweet girl." You hummed in response, knowing that wouldn't happen.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Just you and me then." Her voice was always so rich, accented and friendly but strong. It was like dark chocolate, with a hint of caramel and raspberries. But now, it was exhausted. You'd trusted her more then anyone else, related to her even if your tactics were different. Even when the men had tried to split up as if it was District against District. Really they'd just been trying to get the two “weaker" girls out of the way so they could fight it out amongst themselves. Marlowe had been much too smart for that though. She'd fled from Birch the moment she sensed his demeanor change.

You'd both silently hoped the other would be dead, so that it wouldn't come to this. You and Marlowe fighting for your lives, your families, all as a silly little dance, a pageant for the rich.

“Just you and me." You repeated back, voice so soft it could be caught in the wind and drift away, feathery.

“I'd say we should just split up and wait to see who dies out first, but we both know you're much more popular than I am." She smirked with sadness twinging her features.

“They like you, Marlowe. You're fierce."

She laughed harshly, “So are you, but you've balanced it out. Anyways I'm sure if we did do that they'd send something out for us. It's all for the show, isn't it?" Marlowe wouldn't cry but you could feel the exasperation, the anger, the tears that would never spill in her wavering voice. “Isn't it?" She shouted into the sky. You could tell she was giving up in a sense, not scared of angering the Capitol. But that didn't mean she wasn't still a threat, if anything her wrath made her more of a danger in the moment. So as she started into the sky you made a run for it, grabbing the spear left by Conway. Oh, Conway.

There was no time to dwell on Conway or Birch. Right now you need to focus on your plan, gaining the upper hand. You needed to be in the water. Which wouldn't be hard, this was a marshland after all. Spear in hand you ran as fast as you could, enough distance would give you enough time to think of a more solid plan. Marlowe shouted your name, but you ran until your legs tumbled into the warm water, sweat ran down your face as the mugginess clung to your skin. You whipped around to where her footsteps headed towards you, gripping for dear life onto that spear.

“Was this your plan all along? That's what Birch always said, you'd play the part of a darling, of a ready to cry her heart out sweetheart just to stab us all in the back, especially with that training score.” She shook her head, dismayed. " But I get it, I really do. This is what they do, pin us against each other. If you wanted me to die you would have thrown that at me, but you haven't. But I can still win this thing.” The tears were burbling up again and before you could throw the spear into her she'd tackled you from the side.

Your lungs filled with the muddy water and you gasped for air that wasn't there. How ironic it would be, you ran for the water to have the upper hand and it would be the end of you. Your grasp had loosened on the spear and you desperately tried to find it in the water. Your arms failed, you kicked forward, but Marlowe was just as strong as Birch would have been. For a second you were able to lift your face out of the water and take a gasp of air before her hands plunger you back into uncomfortably warm water.

You saw images of Finnick, how disappointed he would be in you. How heart wrenchingly broken he would be to know he pushed you away to ‘protect you’ and there you were dead in the dirty marsh water. You wanted him back desperately, for him to trust you again, let you back within the walls of his mind. Suddenly your hands finally wrapped around the spear you'd been desperately searching for. With all the energy you had left in you, eyes searching through the murky water you aimed as much as you could.

Suddenly her rough fingers holding you down loosened and you forced yourself up, gasping for air. Hands still on the handle of the spear and you felt the warmth of a thicker liquid falling down on you. Straight from her neck, you'd gone straight through her throat. The cannon rang out, a voice proclaimed you the victor of the annual Hunger Games, but all you could do was bawl. Mumbled apologies, she didn't deserve this, nobody did.

Pictures of her mother and father glaring into you for taking away their only baby as you announced your loyalty to the righteousness of Panem. You weren't screaming yourself awake.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick hasn't fallen back to sleep, but your sniffles and the feeling of your hot tears on his arms made him glad he hadn't. That he could be here for you when you woke up once again, needing to know there would be no more death. Other things like ahead, but there would be no more arena.

“Angel, it's okay. Let it out, I'm here for you." He spoke with so much confidence that your drowsy self simply nodded as you cried and tucked yourself into his arms even more.

“Finnick?" You mumbled out through your groggy mind and tear filled throat.

“Yes, my love?" Even when your vision was blurred he looked ethereal, a god send in your time of need.

“Can you just tell me something happy, just whisk me away, please?" Finnick kissed the top of your head.

“Of course." The begging way you said it, pumped his veins with guilt. He's been too harsh, too much of a realist. Which wasn't how your relationship operates, he couldn't just talk to you like a mentor when you'd always meant so much more than that.

“Angel, after we get through this we're going to live in a beautiful house overlooking the beach. I'll annoy you but dragging you out to fish-” He began before you interrupted him.

“You could never annoy me, Finnick." You said softly and he pressed his finger to your lips.

“Shhhh, just listen and rest. I'll annoy you and boss you around it, as you like to say. I'll collect sea glass to make you beautiful things, we'll dance in the sand, and every second I'll think about your hands in mind, your soft hair wrapped in my fingers, your lips on mine. We’ll be so drunk on our own pleasure all of this will be a figment of your imagination, I'll cook for you, and we'll get dressed up to go nowhere before we just end up swimming the night away." Maybe he was lying maybe if Snow had his way it would break you like it had broken him, but maybe with your kindhearted way you'd simply build him back up and your bond would be stronger than ever.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Sorry this is so long, but I left out so much I was thinking about. Especially about the games so maybe there'll be a part two if y'all want. Thanks for reading, likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #thg finnick #thg x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader fluff #thg #the hunger games #thg x y/n

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v3nomly · 8 months

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hiii saw your post abt modern au astarion and how you have requests open🤭 first of all i'm begging you please give us every single astarion thought you have........ kinda obsessed with modern au astarion🤭 could you please give us something about that where astarion still works in the justice system?? i'll never understand why people say he would have a different job, boy is literally born to be a lawyer/judge!! also have a lovely day😽😽😽 if you plan on keeping tabs on your anons may i be a 🍓 anon teehee

Ooo, I love the idea of modern lawyer Astarion. Instantly my brain went feral and threw my mind into the hyperbolic gutter. NSFW additions and a surprise appearance from ascended-adjacent Astarion under the cut. As always let me know if you want me to continue! Either as more thirsty ramble of an actual fic! Also I created a tag for you 🍓 anon! ♡

Astarion is just so charming and beguiling. He has everyone wrapped around his finger in that courtroom. Hanging off every saccharine word he says.

God, he’s just about lying through his teeth, but no one seems to care. He's spinning a careful web of truths and mistruths so intricate and show-stopping that he knows he has the jury right where he wants them.

You’re a bottom-of-the-food chain lawyer. New enough to the scene that you get stuck with all the shitty cases like this one. But veteran enough in the art of assholes to know the type of man Astarion is the moment you see him. The worst type of lawyer, one more befitting the name of a conman. Happy to line his pockets with the misfortune of others.

You couldn’t lie he was captivating. Every utterance of a word was a performance. Every gesture was a dance, and he played the part so well. It is what he does best.

It is when you utter one simple word that he finds his show comes to a halt.

“Objection,” you state voice almost meek, all eyes turn to you, and suddenly the spotlight has shifted.

Of course, the judge dismissed your claims, but it was enough to throw Astarion off his game. Sure, this wasn’t the first time someone had called 'objection', nor would it be the last. Yet, even with your voice as meek as it was your eyes held something he hadn’t witnessed in years. Clarity.

You saw through him, and the revelation almost made him want to laugh. You were refreshing, like an ice-filled cup of water on a sweltering summer day. For the rest of the trial, he gave you a chance to match his dance and god where you beautiful.

Maybe you stumbled or stepped on his toes, but you were merely unpracticed and the thought of you honed, your skills sharpened like a knife, brought a fiery excitement he hadn’t realized he was missing.

I could see him being subtly flirty every moment you were alone during the trail. Something that flustered the hell out of you, but you never let it affect your performance, which only furthered his interest.

When all is said and over, with the defense winning, a very proud and victorious Astarion comes over to shake your hand. Taking the opportunity to pull you just a step closer and invite you for drinks.

You knew better. Certainly knew that a guy like him was trouble, but you didn’t say no. While you wouldn’t admit it, you were somewhat eager to see what else Astarion was capable of. So much so that you had practically brought up the idea of him fucking you in the alley.

Your hands braced you against the wall, allowing you enough resistance to push back into each thrust, allowing Astarion to hit you deeper. His hands held firmly onto your hips, no doubt leaving the imprints of his long fingers on your skin.

"Fuck," you utter your legs wobbling, slowly turning to putty as he brings you closer to the edge. Astarion pauses his hold shifting to better support you. You hear him pant behind you, and you can only assume he's trying desperately to catch his breath. Just as caught up in the steamy exchange as you were. Before he steps back, allows his cock to slip free.

"Turn around, wanna see you, beautiful," the pet name speeds up your already racing heart. They were nothing new, something you had grown used to when his flirtatious remarks had started up, but the cadence of his voice felt more real, intimate.

Turning was a blessing and a curse, and both for the same reason. Astarion was handsome, there was no denying that. An air of royalty surrounded him, so perfectly pristine with so little effort. Now replaced with something just as gorgeous. White curls lay jostled, a few strands stuck to his forehead, pupils blow wide with lust, and lips swollen and bruised with the faintest strain of your lipgloss.

It isn't until he had you in his arms, a leg thrown over each one that you realize how strong he is. In the dim alley, you had only been able to make out the makings of what you assumed were abs, and while you had run your hands along his chest plenty during your initial makeout session you hadn't pegged him to be this fit. Nor did you realize how much you liked being picked up as if you were nothing but a small toy.

Astarion simply asks if you are ready, only waiting for your nod before he's once again buried deep inside you.

He kissed you sloppily, swallowing every breathy moan you let escape your pretty little mouth. Only pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

There was little regret to be had when you let your gaze linger on him. Even as someone walks past the alleys threatening to expose your rendezvous. You think that you wouldn’t mind having him fuck you senseless again.

Dark Astarion

Imagine being his little Legal Secretary who deals with all his boring administrative issues.

Late office hours where he has his hand fisted in your hair, pulling tight, as guides you to choke on his cock. The deep laugh that would rumble through his chest right before he begins to mock you. Astarion would start off sweet with a little tease about how cute you are. Before his mouth would twist into the cocky smirk he wore so often. He’d make you look at him, mouth still placed around his aching length. You meet his eyes and moan around him. In the light, they almost appear red, like a predator ready to devour its prey. A sly fox and his dumb little rabbit.

You think for a second he’s going to praise you. Tell you how good you make him feel, so you look up at him eagerly with big doe eyes. Ready for whatever compliment would slip from his perfect lips.

“You're my personal little pet. Aren’t you darling? Only good for serving me,” he says, with little room for argument. Demeaning and possessive and the best compliment he could ever bestow upon you.

His smirk grows as he observes you squeeze your thighs together, cock growing impossibly harder when he thinks about how wet you’ll be when he has you bouncing on it later.

#astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #reader insert #x reader #astarion #˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ 🍓 anon #˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ ven writes

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gothprentiss · 1 year

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the hour of lead! for the director's cut ask thingy

for ref: [the hour of lead] Post Valhalla + Lauren. Derek mourns Emily’s death. / 2.9k words / rated g

ok so! this is SEVERELY too long:

one fun thing about this fic is that i typically take about a week to write a fic due to my proclivity for narrative hubris (rounding out multiple ‘episodes’ or whatever is, i discovered writing this, more time-consuming than simply just doing one linear thing) and the 5-15k range. this, i’m pretty sure, i sat down to write at like 3 and had finished by 8, or something like that. and it’s under 3k words, although i believe when i first posted it it was about 200 words shorter— i also have a cool and normal tendency to edit fics *after* posting them, meaning that the fic i post and the fic that’s on ao3 a week later are often two marginally different animals. but the point is that this was like, a bit of an achievement in terms of writing process.

as i'm rereading it now i'm very like, oh this is me leaning on all of my sort of typical supports— very heavy repetition and recursion, a lot of motifs, tonally a bit overdramatically Lyrical, and the ending feels a bit rushed and saccharine in its use of the future-perfect. i also have this annoying tendency to make english majors out of every character i write lol. i was clearly also thinking about derek in the same way i think about emily, probably— i think with both of them i like to defer moments of, say, emotional ‘depth’ to something more external, functional, or actionable, and this fic gets very into materiality as a result. but like that being said—

one funny behind the scenes thing: i cribbed a section from a different fic i was thinking i’d never post anywhere (it’s the exorcist-themed one— you can see the precise section i snagged this from [here], about midway through, in emily’s vision of the death of father del toro). normally i’m very careful about cribbing wholesale from my drafts because i think that uh the topic should generate the language or something? but in this case it’s about the death of a priest in a story where i’d also been exploring derek’s own religiosity (e.g. [here]), and i’d been thinking it would be either him or jj to eventually perform the exorcism in the fic (i.e., stepping into the role of a priest), so there’s a sort of parity there. point is, i had this paragraph written:

Father del Toro screamed. He gave off, in a great mushroom cloud, a massive volume of steam, hissing and roiling above his vestments, miraculously dry. It was as if, in a second, he dehydrated to the precise fatal degree. Then he crumpled to the ground in an inhuman heap, folding over himself heels to pelvis and knees to shoulders. The dull thunking of his knees, then his head, meeting the floor rang infinitely through the cathedral’s vast and vaulting interior, built as it was to amplify human song to the magnificence of the heavenly host. It rose in pitch as it went, and screamed until it last ceased to sound. On his downturned face, a droplet of blood welled in his right eye and folded there, in the tear duct, too small to drop.

and made it this one:

He thinks about what it would feel like to shut the door behind him and fall to his knees in the hall. He thinks he might crumple entirely, into an unrecognizable heap, folding over himself heels to pelvis and knees to chest. The dull thunk of his knees, then his head, meeting the floor— it might echo in the vast, seemingly endless space of the apartment. It might echo the way sounds echo in churches, sound waves climbing higher, reflected off each other, up to Heaven.

reshaping in the process an description of a destructive encounter with Pure Evil! into a sudden wave of enervating grief.

off that sidebar— i think i must have begun this fic thinking really hard about pathetic fallacies, on one hand, and about how that sort of magical thinking plays out. like this is obviously quite overdetermined in

He’s been hiding from this. As he slips out of his front door, the red maple that casts its shade over the front yard sheds its collected rain down onto him. A fat drop catches in his eyebrow, and another slips down the back of his neck.

It’s not that the rain feels fitting, but that it feels wrong. Wrong, that they aren’t frozen in February. Wrong, that this hearkens the change of seasons. Wrong, that the first shoots of daffodils have already crept up from the ground. A patch of the shocking white variety known as ice follies has sprung up, just tucked inside the wall surrounding his front yard, since she died. He nearly dug them up, then decided that would be barbaric.

where, first, going outside to confront what he’s been avoiding (acting as if she is dead) also brings him out into the rain, so it’s not that it’s reflecting his mood but rather that he’s caught in it. then there’s the very explicit problem of the rain, which isn’t moody weather but rather simply portends spring and sun. i did like the ice follies bit! i remember being like “oh shit! oh that’s going in!” when i was googling different daffodil varieties and ran across those. i think it’s one of those extremely minor cosmic serendipities that they have such a sort of like, toothlessly cruel name, in the same way that the pathetic fallacy does?

i think that kind of magical thinking runs headlong into itself later, too, when he’s finally come to emily’s and the skies have cleared up. i’m not entirely sure about how i feel about narration here— there are parts where i was clearly playing with, beyond unhealthy coping mechanisms, some element of unreliable narration. so, for example, “It’s about to be a rainy night when he finally makes it out to Emily’s apartment” is proven untrue here, which was deliberate, but i think looks like a mistake. or similarly, i leaned pretty hard into different, like, qualities of reported thought? this is definitely something i snagged from thomas harris, who has it down to a gorgeous science in silence of the lambs, and i think i have it down to, approximately, my catholic school’s science class. so, for example:

You have to face her eventually. Emily lives— Emily lived closest to him of all the team.

“You have to face her eventually” is thought, pure and simple. “you” is direct self-address. but the following lines also borrow his voice, with a similar quality of presence; it’s only because it’s expository that it’s relegated to the prose narrative proper. it feels kind of ham-handed to me. given that the fic begins with a similar, i don’t know, problem of voice—

In the no man’s land between sleep and waking, he thinks it’s someone knocking out a message in Morse code: it’s spring. Times have changed. You must change accordingly.

— i was also thinking about how there’s a sort of tertiary thing present here, a form of truth emerging from the dramatic irony of this magical thinking: this rainfall, failing to be mood weather, announces spring; the intruding present tense reminds us that emily does still live, a fact which he’s not capable of grasping. i find this sooooooo annoying of me!!!!

i’m gonna speed this up!

1) obviously religion and prayer— i think their mutual lapsed catholicism is really neat and derek’s apparent (if rarely addressed) desire to return to a meaningful relationship with religion is really fascinating to me. without getting too deep into my extremely elaborate views on religion, i also was thinking here about what constitutes a prayer, and what it might do for him— thinking back to derek praying in “penelope,” it strikes me as something he’d be very deeply invested in, and very careful about too; not in a superstitious sense, but with a desire to direct things correctly. like the precise problem for derek’s relationship with religion is that he does believe in an interventionist god but can’t.

2) materiality:

central to the fic for sure. i think i was rereading house of leaves around the time i wrote this? and if i wasn’t, i was definitely thinking about it, because the description of her (ugly) apartment absolutely whiffs of it. it’s also about the problem of change, where matter doesn’t provide any continuity— he encounters it as a space almost totally transformed, whose last entrants were all uncaring strangers. see as well:

Yet life, he thinks, is often full of guilt. Loss is a relation to a lost object. The danger is when that relation is not one of mourning, but one of replacement; when you build for yourself, in your mind’s eye, a phantom limb. This is a recipe for pathology, a wound of the mind which may never put up a layer of scab and knit itself shut underneath. The old wound of distance, of absence: in not healing to scar, it tempts infection. But you accept some dangers, in living.

i do like the line about danger! this is very much freudian mourning and melancholia LOL but i felt like i had some license to let morgan be a bit more theoretical about loss here, since profilers are ostensibly highly competent in psychology. but also, i think this part leans into the show’s register of pathology— of danger, of threat— even as it’s more concerned with reconciliation with living. living over life here, with the gerund’s processual sense. this is sort of the fic’s turn, where living becomes an act again rather than a hypothetical?

3) title / dickinson poem— i don’t know if i love this. like i love the title but that's a good line of poetry. see, on one hand, i’m very committed to emily prentiss reading poetry. and i think this is a really cool poem. i also think the show sort of skimps on the other way that this team would work, which is feeling Very Very Bad Very Often together. like "true knight" sticks in my mind as a stunningly naive moment from emily, on one hand, and on the other as a thought process she'd have to keep having. similar to how stricken derek is in "lucky" & "penelope". one of the things about dickinson's poem is that while it suggests itself as being about loss through death very immediately ("Tombs," ln 2), and through its final simile, it's most explicitly just about "great pain". life is of course full of many other forms of great pain, and cm is even more full of it. so the way the poem kind of ends up haunting and restructuring derek's thought processes when he thinks about it there— it's kind of just him realizing its truth, which is a common experience with poetry. it's also finding a thought process which he can move with, e.g. how he notices the orchid plant is fake at the end and is like, oh, that too!

it feels like a problem that every character i try to write becomes a very dedicated english major. i think i like where it got me, though, which was to hands, and the acts of letting go, holding on, gathering, and releasing. this is a very like, materially attuned fic, which is quite rare for me! i like overdescribing things AND i like motifs, so you get a lot of hands stuff throughout the fic, for example:

He remembers that Jonny McHale, in the throes of grief’s icy grip, moved through and as his pen, frozen into it, until even his own blood might have been ink to him. He remembers as well that Emily’s breath guttered and bubbled, as her body contended with its mere materiality. He begged her not to let go, she begged him to let go. All just fluctuations of matter. The folding and unfolding of fingers. The way love and desperation move your hands, and make them unable to move.

The texture of her hands still feels live under his own. Emily’s skin, gleaming dark with blood, and bright with the sweat of exertion: in the darkness, the light clung to the evidence of her struggle to live, and seared into his vision. The skin slung between her knuckles felt like silk, or wet paper, suddenly delicate, suddenly at risk. Her clammy fingers were still warm in his hands.

i think the hands parts (there are like 4 more of them lol) were my favorite parts of the fic to write, and probably are my favorite parts of it now— high levels of synonymy, repetition, apposition, and full of sentence fragments are my go-tos because i enjoy that like, particular texture of writing.

anyway this is TOO LONG i think the only other thing is that i would probably have preferred to draw out the ending longer because i do really dislike its pacing and movement. but what can you do! it's under 3k words! and what i've written in this response might genuinely be longer than that!

#fic #like truly this is SO LONG #but thank you for playing ask game! i had fun!#don't open this readmore unless you GENUINELY want to read it or you want to have to scroll for a while i'm serious #i assume the other one i did was wildly long too but i'm on my laptop now so i have the capacity to scroll and hooooo. boy

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ranboo5 · 3 years

Text

Dropping the Ranboo mixtape

Anyway at time of starting to write this post I had two likes and two affirmative replies, which is Good Enough For Me, so here I am :D I was gonna link the YT but on second thought my YT channel is a mess so this is gonna be one of the annoying ones that doesn’t link to one you can actually listen to but

This is also a running list and currently organized roughly by increasingly hotter takes and it’s under a cut bc it’s 13 songs and I justified all of them

Everybody Likes You (Lemon Demon) - LISTEN THE ANIMATION MEMES WEREN’T LYING THAT EVERYBODY LIKES YOU CAN RANBOOCORE. The increasingly distorted, incredibly bright repetition of EVERYBODY LIKES YOU EVERYBODY LIKES YOU EVERYBODY LIKES YOU until you can hear it morphing in and out of EVERYBODY LIED TO YOU? Tell Me That’s Not Him In The Spiral Depths

Tall (Naps the Block on YT) - This is a) literally a theme for the End, b) sounds stumbling and anxious/high-strung, and c) echoes the Pigstep melody in the middle while still very much doing its own thing this is self explanatory

Dance of Thorns/Old Secret mashup (Tensei and James Roach respectively, feat. woodfur00 on YT) (yes this is Homestuck music) - It’s just the vibes. The energy. The way the elegance of the violin lines of Dance of Thorns sounds almost nervous especially against the almost noir mystery vibes of Old Secret, and the guitar lines of Dance of Thorns add like. Initiative/urgency especially when they underlay the other music it’s so good I don’t think either song alone is Ranboo vibes but this remix definitely is. Just the mix of perseverance and desperation and melancholy and mystery and Class

Touch-Tone Telephone (Lemon Demon) - This one is old news but tbh it just works. Man decides he’s the correct one in this situation and he’s losing his entire mind that no one is listening to him because he just is not

2012 (Will Wood) - This one isn’t really clever it’s just about memory loss, derealization, identity, and often self-hatred (“A miserable fuck, but a loud Tao mystical” is a lot). “Did you lose yourself?/It’s always in the last place that you check” sounds so mocking in ways internal monologues like Droice have been and “I might find myself/By retracing my steps” is literally just Ranboo dealing with the Enderwalk; “And not until lobotomy abolished my monotony/Did I applaud autonomy, and modify a lot of me!” works so much for him Dealing With Himself generally, and also “I heard the world would turn to hell/Compared to that, I’m doing well!” is a Him sentiment

Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In! (Will Wood) - Jokes about the three hour mining/grinding streams aside. Not only is the chorus so heavily a spiral/self-evaluation mood, but literally consider his thought processes abt the things he’s done/allegedly done and then consider “My dreams were shattered like a stained-glass window/Jesus in pieces! I believe I through a brick right through Him/But my memory could not be saved!/It just seems unlikely that it’s me who was to blame/So I bookmark my DSM, ‘cause I need to remember my place.” And now with the advent of the “experiments” the second verse’s “Take the road on higher ground, and tell me ‘don’t look down! You’ll fall and break your back’/But that just reminds me how there’s more to be found beneath the black!” is more relevant than ever

Friends With You (The Scary Jokes) - Oh my god. Oh my fucking god man. This could be on here for “I put myself to bed just halfway through the party/I love all my friends, but I hate when their eyes are on me” alone but the general almost empty saccharine vibe of the song is immensely his vibe; the humorlessly-smiling vocal fry on “don’t know” in “Why do you pretend/You don’t know who’s to blame?” is probably responsible for 80% of this read. Not to mention the first lyrics are literally “How long do I have to wait/’Til my lonely days are over?” which is really the. The waiting it out man the So When Do I Get To Be Okay of it all. Shoutouts also to “And the crumbling infrastructure no one else can see,” the self hatred of “I miss being friends with you/But what can I do/What can I do/But leave you alone?” and to “And I can tell you really love me/Can you tell I’m really sorry?” Just. The mix of hope+affection and dejected cynicism and self-hatred in the lyrics

Saline Solution (none other than Mr Wilbur Soot) - Remember what I said about waiting it out until you get to be okay? Anyway that’s crystallized in “If I could just break one more night/Maybe I could wake up and feel alright” and also this is literally a song about catastrophizing and self-evaluation just,, in general and I will not be highlighting all the lyrics about this but I will highlight the fact that he literally calls himself pragmatic and also the lyric “blurring the facts and the fiction.” Also, the sheer desperate anger-concealing-breakdown vibes of “I think I’ve made my choice” to “I think I’ve found my voice” deserves a mention, as does the culminating end of “saline solution to all your problems” with the tears+now splash water motifs of it all with Ranboo I am going to die

Funny (The Scary Jokes) - This is actually a softer take but not only does it literally start with the singer pleading with the addressee to look away, it continues with “I went up in the middle of the night and I climbed right onto the stage/And I raged/And I cried/Oh, what a funny joke am I” disregarding everything as performance, reemphasizes the opening demand with the qualifier “it’s not that I hate you, it’s just that I’m funny these days,” and then kills you with the last couple lines which. Yeah he does care and it does,,, just,,,,, a

Chemical Overreaction (Will Wood) - This is where the mood VIOLENTLY whiplashes because this is where we get unhinged. Anyway “I won’t stop to drop to draw a line in the sand/’Cause I’ll be picked apart to pieces by coyotes!” is LITERALLY the whole “I don’t do well with ‘peer pressure’” thing. “Where the sentimental value of the city around ya/Is deleted obsolete, but still completely will stun ya” is the single most L’Manberg lyric I’ve ever heard, especially from the perspective of a character whom I will repeatedly insist is narratively in the role of someone who’s shown up and seen the status quo as an outsider after it’s been established (hence the eternal New Kid vibes). Chorus very much has vibes of Ranboo Is Seized By The Urge To Do Something, and like. The entire dramatic end part. The last two lines especially (be very careful if you look up the vieo for this by the way it is NOT pretty; cws in the video for flashing, blood, suicide imagery)

A Mannequin Adrift (The Scary Jokes) - The Bitterness. This song is just fully The Bitterness at the environment he’s stuck in; the saccharine comes back as does the “peer pressure” thematic and just the Having An Awful Time; the sarcastic saccharine comes back too, which is always good I love passive aggression. Honestly the first verse is just everything like just listen to it it immediately makes sense

Poison Ivy Grows (The Scary Jokes) - This is overall a song about having bad brain and not knowing what the hell to do about it; it’s so faintly bitter and distant and melancholy and also so zoned out. Also, it’s not the only lyric that matters here but it is enough to be a full argument on its own: “I used to spend so much time/Wandering around outside/Now I’ve got too much on my mind/Now I’ve got too much on my mind”

Spring Haze (Tori Amos) - Listen. Do I know what Spring Haze is about? No. Is that gonna stop me from saying it’s about Ranboo? Also no. I just think “You say we’ll never make it there/So all we do is circle it” is so much, the fact that the bridge at the end is just “Why does it always end up like this?” repeated, and that it just feels so much like overall the song feels like a desperate attempt to figure Something out, and the chorus is just inexplicably him? It might be partially influenced by the fact that “Uh-oh, let go, off on my way” and, to a lesser extent, “Uh-oh, way to go” is not only in accordance with character vibes but also vaguely evocative of Ranboo’s speech pattern

#this also has a couple songs pending addition #this post is just That Enderman Is Deeply Troubled. Listen To Scary Jokes

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Link

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes.

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment.

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands.

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really.

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable.

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade.

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did.

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing.

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw.

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it.

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled.

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact.

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed.

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped.

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve -

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush.

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,�� Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him.

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him.

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said.

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was.

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did.

#my work #my fics #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fan fiction #fan fic #witcher fanfiction #valdomarx

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sweetsubharry · 4 years

Note

Do you know any Larry fics with relationship during or post the band

yes I do! ^-^ (As a forewarning, under the read more is 47 fics! So this is quite a long post! I just couldn’t narrow them down!) I’ve split them into three sections; x factor, during the band, and ‘hiatus’ :)

In case no one gets to the bottom of the page I’ll say it again here too! Please make sure to stay safe and read the tags!!

X factor era

I'd give up forever to touch you by blankiehxrry

just your typical xfactor fic with a bit of a twist

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

horizontal like a quarter to three by orphan_account

The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up.

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Could you love me anyway by SadaVeniren

Dear Mistress Lorin: I’ve been reading your blog for a couple weeks now and was hoping you’d give me some advice for something that happened with me and my boyfriend. I’m really worried that I hurt him.

aka Harry and Louis begin playing ping pong during the X-Factor Tour. It quickly gets out of hand.

no we're not friends, nor have we ever been by blankiehxrry

louis and harry get frisky in the xfactor house

give you my fever by beautlouis

And he’s wanted it even more since he met Louis, it's driven him insane, he spends 90% of his life turned on because of Louis and he’s had no relief at all. He’ll wake up at night too hot and itchy, with Louis warm and sweet smelling next to him, and unable to do anything but wank unsuccessfully, with no release. “I can try,” Louis says, close enough that Harry’s eyes cross a little trying to look at him. “I want to, I’ve never been with anybody, like, I’ve snogged people, lots of people, but I’ve never—touched anyone.” He clears his throat. “I’d touch you, Hazza.”

Harry’s breathing picks up. “Yes.” He doesn’t think there was a question but he’s a little overwhelmed. “Yes,” he repeats, dizzy.

*x-factor era. harry's never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first

During the band

Sweet Baby by jishler

“Haz,” he said, “do you like being held down?”

Drawing a shaky breath, Harry finally looked Louis in the eyes. “I think so.”

Nothing You Can Do (But You Can Learn How To Be You In Time) by Teumessian

A Canon Compliant Semi-AU. Louis braids Harry’s hair. There are good times, bad times, fancy houses, supportive bandmates, secret boyfriends, small rebellions, bigger revolutions, some nail varnish, ribbons, cute clothing, and a Pinterest.

make me feel like i am breathing by crybaby

His eyes are already looking a hint distant as Louis gets comfortable on his knees, running a hand up the hairless expanse of Harry's milky thigh. Harry always starts dipping at the sight of his vibrator, bubblegum plastic with flecks of glitter in the pink. His cheeks pink to match the colour and his eyes go wide, his lips chewing.

(Prompt: how about louis fucking harry with a vibrator backstage before they go on?)

take me into your loving arms by blankiehxrry

twas the night of the brit awards

Just Give Me a Reason by Mr_Stylinson

"Why do people hate me?" is a question Harry is more than desperate to figure out the answer to after reading through negative comments on Twitter about his "What Makes You Beautiful" performance on Red or Black. But this new addiction could potentially decide his fate as a part of One Direction unless the other boys are able to convince their youngest member that his value is defined by far more than a bunch of dumb online comments.

The Pedal's Down, My Eyes are Closed by dancingontheceiling

Louis and Harry bang it out in the dressing room after performing "18" and "No Control" for the first time at OTRA Brussels.

i'm missing half of me when we're apart by orphan_account

Louis can just picture what he looks like right now. Curled up on the big bed in their LA house, wrapped up in one of Louis' sweatshirts, crying his heart out, face red and blotchy, eyes sore, fingers twisted in the blankets as his chest tightens up.

Fallingforyou by gayilystrong

Harry's sick on Tour, which leads to naps in Louis' bunk. Louis of course needs to take care of his baby.

vocal rest remedy by tippytoetomlinstyles

Harry is sick and sad and on vocal rest. Louis helps him get over his sadness by cheering him up the only way he knows how.

Push You Over The Edge (So I Can Pull You Back) by orphan_account

It’s after a long two weeks of interviews and non-stop appearances that have got Harry stressed to the limit of yanking his hair out and throwing a fit and crying that Louis shows it to him, walks in the door with a sleek black bag in his left hand and inconspicuous brown one in his right.

It Feels Right When The Pink Matches His Lips by orphan_account

He adores pink, and pretty colors. He likes deciding what color his nails should be and whether or not this lipstick matches his shirt. He likes rummaging through Jade or Leigh's closets to try on the pretty clothes they have or their make-up drawer out of curiosity.

But the media doesn't. They call him awful names, spewing out article after article. So, he stops. He stops wearing pink, stops painting his nails, stops experimenting with make-up, and Louis notices.

[Featuring Harry as the unconfident member of the biggest boy band in the world and Louis as his very supportive boyfriend.]

Every Move You Make by sunniskies

After the debacle at the Brits, Louis decides he needs to keep better track of Harry.

Obligatory Sickfic by WhoopsImASinner

Harry gets off stage after the Live Lounge and is more than a little upset about how sick he is. Louis takes it upon himself to get his boy home and cheer him up.

Do Not Disturb (kiss me beneath the milky twilight) by SadaVeniren

“I was talking with Nick a couple months back and he was saying how our sex life seemed boring and we’d need to keep doing new and interesting things to keep it exciting or else we’d become boring and heterosexual and I defended us of course but then work picked up and we started living off of studio handjobs and missionary position sex in the dark and so I panicked. I googled BDSM and after looking into it I really want to try some of it because I think we’d enjoy it but we just don’t have the time.”

aka Harry doesn't want to become a boring old married couple a year into their relationship and tries to spice up their sex life.

But I'm Only Human (And I Bleed When I Fall Down). by brooklynbis

Harry wasn't an idiot. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that everyone was going to love him, hell, he was expecting for people to not like him. But a few tweets from Twitter really can be enough to trigger a whole bucket load of emotions.

_______________________

AKA Harry has a lot of emotions, management (particularly Simon) are pieces of shit, Louis is an amazing boyfriend as per, and Liam, Niall and Zayn are all very protective over the youngest member of the group.

You Like Playing Games by orphan_account

Louis knows Harry likes to flirt and tease. Louis knows that he doesn’t particularly like when Harry flirts and teases. Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis doesn’t particularly like it.

But what Louis doesn’t quite know is why, despite that, Harry’s decided to grind against 5 Seconds of Summer’s Luke Hemmings during “Teenage Dirtbag” in the last show in Melbourne.

Basically pure smut.

Make Tea, Not War by adventuring, howdoyouwhisk (popsongdelusional)

"Is he the messiest?"

"Yes."

"Does he do the washing up?"

"Never."

"Does he make his bed?"

"Never."

"Hopeless, hopeless flatmate. Would you rather be with one of these guys?"

"Nope!"

Or: Louis attempts to become a better flatmate, much to Harry's dismay.

Are We In The Clear Yet? by highlinson

The thing is, it’s not anything new. He’s gone through it a dozen times, at least. It shouldn’t scare him, still. Should never have scared him in the first place. Yet he’s trembling as he makes his way through the crowds.

You and Me by louisgrindsonharry

Harry and Louis have dabbled in the idea of BDSM but Harry finally wants to take it farther and Louis has to figure out how to take care of his boy.

We'll All Float On Alright by dancingbean

Harry has a really bad day. Louis is there with cuddles and kisses and scented candles.

You live in my heart by styleztomlinson

As soon as they’re done with their set, Louis only has one thing on his mind and that’s to get out of there as soon as possible.

or,

Harry is sick during their performance at the iHeartRadio festival. Afterwards, Louis takes cares of his baby, and dotes on his husband.

Cause If You Let Me, Here's What I'll Do by stylesforstiles

Five times where Harry is Louis' baby

When the Points Add Up by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is physically incapable of following the rules, and Management is smart enough to know his weak spot: Harry. One stunt too many leaves Harry exiled to a room by himself all night and Louis rallies the others to devise a plan to get Harry his cuddles tonight no matter what Management says.

There's a Hole In My Soul, Can You Fill It? by stylesforstiles

Sometimes Harry is so tired. Louis always wants to fix it.

Susceptible to Getting Hurt by page394

"I've always wanted to be one of those people who didn't really care that much about what people thought about them... But I just don't think I am." - Harry

Just What The Doctor Ordered by everyroad

A short little thing about a sick Harry who really just needs his Louis.

Baby, I'm perfect for you by nancy01

Harry broke down in tears. Like loud, ugly, fat tears that made his shoulders shake and his hands come up to hide his face. He made Louis worry, he made Louis scared, he made Louis angry and worst of all now Louis' going to be disappointed in him and think he's being childish and pathetic. well done, have you made yourself proud?. now even louis isn't going to like you, you've pushed him away to.

Louis sighed."Sweetheart, come here." He called with wide opening arms.

Harry doesn't think he's ever moved faster in his entire life. Louis arms wrap around Harry's shoulders, pulling him in close, as Harry buries his neck into Louis' shoulder to try and source maximum comfort.

Paps become to much for Haz, cue protective boyfriend Louis

Never Let You Fall by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry slips on stage and gets a minor concussion, and Louis insists that he spend the night in the hospital just in case. He then turns into a protective baby lion because that is his Harry and he'll be damned if anything happens to him on Louis' watch. Harry rolls his eyes a lot but doesn't really mind.

Breathe by dontlietomehoney

Harry has an asthma attack and Louis is scared to death. What follows after though, scares both boys, pulling them apart and bringing them together.

Your Reason To Be by KellanCougar

The X Factor was only the start. With their management willing to do anything for headlines, including manipulation that could threaten Harry's very life, Louis fears he will lose everything he loves and be powerless to stop it.

And We Linger On by stylesforstiles

Harry is pouting. Louis takes care of him

don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) by stylescantstop

written for this prompt:

"louis knows Harry gets handsy when he's drunk, but that doesn't stop him from showing harry who he belongs to."

or the one where harry dances with other men and a jealous louis reminds him he's the only one who can make him come completely apart.

that boy's got my heart in a silver cage by orphan_account

The whole thing is addictive somehow, and not just because of the way that it makes Louis feel, like Harry is his and he'll do anything he says—but because of the way Harry reacts to it, even in public, twisting in his seat and tripping over his words and once even briefly hiding his face in Louis's shoulder because he's so flustered, causing the girls in the audience to squeal and shout.

if we got nothing, we got us by tumsa

Harry is Louis' baby and he's sick as well.

Okay by JustAnotherShadow503

Harry is frustrated.

It's been almost two years since he and Louis got back together, and nothing has changed. Well, they have changed, and their situation has gotten a lot better, but their sex life? Vanilla. Completely and utterly vanilla.

Harry really thought that after Louis' dirty talk when they got back together, they would get into some kinkier shit, but nope. Louis still makes love to him and calls him sweet names, and that's nice, Harry absolutely loves it, but sometimes, he gets this itch that making love can't scratch.

Or, the one where Harry and Louis try to start a dom/sub BDSM relationship, and nothing goes according to plan.

Gentle Sin by userkant

Harry gasps. He gasps at what must be a sudden pain, or maybe at his sudden orgasm that has him tightening around Louis, forcing Louis’ own release, or maybe all of these things are connected.

Or, Louis discovers a few things about Harry.

A fic about kink exploration and pleasure-pain featuring baby boyfriends, tenderness, and gentle dom Louis.

I'll Look After You by stylesforstiles, TrynaGetStylinson

Harry's had enough with the mobs. He just needs someone to tell him it will all be ok.

Let Me Be Good For You by onlyhuman

His distress over the bun is nothing compared to the thrill Louis feels shoot up his spine at the outfit Harry’s donned. He’s changed into leather jeans that cling to his legs, hugging his thighs snugly. On top of it, a floaty, black sheer shirt is contouring his frame, doing absolutely nothing to hide his puffy nipples or the endless array of tattoos scattered across his torso. It’s Louis’ favourite outfit in the entire world.

Or, Niall's only birthday wish is to go clubbing with his boys in Vegas. Harry ruins it all by wearing that god forsaken black sheer shirt.

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand by orphan_account

If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement.

Beneath the Suits by someonethatsfunny

Harry and Louis had a bit of a ritual when it came to award shows. And that ritual didn’t lend itself very well to after parties or being around other people in general. Nope. They were much better off alone where they could have their own private celebration. So what happened after the AMAs then when Niall and Liam head to an after party and Harry and Louis were nowhere to be found? Well, obviously we can't be sure, but it was probably something along the lines of ....

During ‘hiatus’

Mon Petit by coffinofachimera

Harry wears the 'Mon Petit' sweater while Louis records them on their private plane.

Things Are Pretty Good From Here by ItIsWhatItIs9194, Teddy1008

Harry's just released "Sign of the Times," and of course, Louis can't help but want to let his sub know how proud he is of him with more than just words.

They basically fuck.

head head heart by turnyourankle

After Dunkirk has wrapped filming, Harry struggles with his inability to reach subspace. He tries taking the matter in his own hands before Louis intervenes with a plan of his own.

Model's Own by Domeaspreadsheet

Harry hadn’t wanted him to see the Another Man shoot until it dropped, wanted it to be a surprise. He’d already come home with his hair chopped off, how many surprises could there be?

Louis pulls up Harry’s instagram, the notifications for three posts coming through right after the other. Harry was off at a spin class, and here Louis sits, staring at Harry’s face, the three covers forming a neat line, all so different, yet all so very Harry. He zooms in on one, knows he must be seeing it wrong, but no. Harry is wearing a collar. On the cover of a fucking magazine.

Beside Me Like a Silhouette by Domeaspreadsheet

“Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke.

Oh. Harry has been set up.

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.

Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”

Harry nods.

“Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.”

redder than the devil by mercutionotromeo

It's half past 9, and all Harry wants is for Louis to touch him. Preferably after a good spanking.

If you combine a lazy Saturday afternoon with a distracting, pouty Harry, you'll end up with Louis spanking his baby over his knee in the middle of a paused FIFA match.

i'll be your sunflower by scagnetism

“What do you think’s gonna stop us now?” Harry says cheekily, laughter in his voice as he looks up at Louis. “Something’s gotta get in our way like always, doesn’t it?”

“Ha,” Louis grins, kissing his cheek and holding open the door for him as they make their way toward the car. “Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time. ‘S gonna be perfect, just like Pumpkin.”

Or, a few interruptions aren't going to stop Harry from having a perfect pregnancy and having the family he and Louis have always dreamed of.

Take Me for a Spin by QuickedWeen

The night of the Pride of Britain Awards 2016. Louis goes to the ceremony and out to the club afterwards, but what is Harry up to?

Baby, Honey by lovelarry10

Harry's been talking about sex and babies on stage too much for Louis' liking, so he decides to give him what he wants...

Or the one with the aftermath of Harry's Detroit concert...

Half Fragment by coffinofachimera

Louis and Harry share a night together through the phone.

As always I hope you enjoy these! Make sure you read the tags and stay safe lovelies ❤

#sub harry #bottom harry #dom louis #top louis #larry stylinson #larry #fanfiction #fic rec #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry fanfiction #larry fanfic rec #Lottie fic rec #ask lots

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fiftyyearfilms · 3 years

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50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘—but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post:

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001.

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011.

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

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#Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory #1971

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pines-troz · 3 years

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Animaniacs/PATB/Wakko’s Wish Fanfic - Pinky Promise

Summary: When Pinky sees the Warner siblings trying to stay warm in the frigid cold, his heart is overwhelmed with compassion. He suggests to Brain that they should help the poor orphans, to which the smaller mouse reluctantly agrees. But when the mice receive a stroke of bad luck, their friendship is put to the test.

Word Count: 7,396

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299807

Based on @themurphyzone‘s lovely post about Wakko’s Wish

The winter snow blanketed the buildings and streets of Acme Falls. The citizens of the village trudged miserably as they went about their daily lives trying to get by in a country that grossly overtaxed its people for the financial satisfaction of its corrupt and cold-heart ruler, King Salazar the Pushy.

Pinky and The Brain emerged from their home and strolled through the village square. To protect themselves from the biting cold winds, Brain sported his purple scarf and brown fingerless gloves, while Pinky wore his red scarf. It wasn’t much, but when there was little to go around they learned to appreciate what they had.

A particularly harsh gust of wind blew past the mice. Brain chattered his teeth as he instinctively rubbed his forearms for extra warmth. Pinky saw how frigid the smaller mouse was and immediately pulled him into a side hug for extra warmth. Brain sneered at his lanky companion and shoved him away, rejecting the affectionate gesture.

“So where are we going again, Brain?” Pinky asked.

“I just told you, Pinky! We’re heading over to the village dump to scavenge any materials that would aid my latest invention.” Brain answered with an annoyed frown.

The pudgy mouse pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket and unfurled the sketches for his device. “A giant vacuum cleaner!” He declared with an eager grin. “With this machine, we’ll be able to suck up that wretched king and his allies, trapping them in a lint-filled prison. Then, while the throne awaits for a new monarch, we will seize power over the kingdom and restore Warnerstock to its former glory!”

“Naaarf!” Pinky awed.

“So that’s why we’re going dumpster diving today, Pinky.” Brain concluded as he stashed his sketch back into his pocket.

“Egad Brain, brilliant!” Pinky joyfully cried out. But then his smile faltered. “But no, no”

“What?” Brain asked exasperatedly.

“Don’t we need proper swimming equipment when we go dumpster diving? Like goggles and flippy fins?” Pinky asked, waving his arms around to emphasize his point. “We can’t waste any time, Pinky!” Brain said curtly. “The daylight hours are considerably shorter this time of year, and we need to make the most of our trip to the dump!”

“Yay!!!” Pinky cheered as he followed his roommate.

As the mice walked past the village square, they looked over at the abandoned orphanage to see three shabbily dressed children huddling around a makeshift fire.

The rodents recognized the Warner children; Yakko, Wakko, and Dot. The kids usually had a penchant for causing chaos around the village. But seeing the normally playful Warners in a state of misery and shivering in front of a weak fire pit was particularly heartbreaking. An awful reminder of the adverse impact of Salazar’s over taxation on the populace.

Poor Pinky was on the verge of tears at the sight of the distraught siblings. Kids were supposed to be happy, bouncing around without a care in the world and having a fun-fun silly-willy time! But to see three poor and defenseless children broke the tall mouse’s heart. “Poit! Oh, the poor dears...” He warbled, placing a hand on his cheek.

“Yes, poverty is a merciless mistress.” Brain agreed in a melancholic tone whilst gently patting his taller friend’s back. “But now is not the time to dwell on the depressing sight of three poor waifs having to fend for themselves in a cold and unforgiving world.”

As Pinky watched his smaller companion lead the way, he thought of a wonderful idea that made him feel all warm and fuzzy. Maybe he could do something to make the kiddies smile!

With his heart filled with renewed hope, the taller mouse skipped along gaily, catching up with his companion. “Say Brain, if we come across anything that’s nice or shiny during our trip to the dump, can we give some to the little kiddies?” Pinky suggested cheerfully.

Brain stopped in his tracks, turning his chubby head towards his lanky roommate. He stared at Pinky with an incredulous look. The odds of finding something of value were slim (not that it deterred the determined mouse from trying anyway). But it didn’t take long for Brain to be captivated by the warmth and compassion that pooled in Pinky’s beautiful blue eyes. How could he ever say no to a gaze like that?

“Should we come across something of value, we could, perhaps, share our wealth with the orphans.” Brain reluctantly spoke.

“Is that a Pinky Promise?” Pinky asked excitedly. The mouse curled three of his fingers with only his pinky pointed out, and eagerly wiggled it in front of his friend.

Brain looked at Pinky’s pinky. The thought of making a Pinky Promise was juvenile and saccharine from Brain’s perspective. But despite his cold exterior and cynical outlook on the world, he could never bring himself to crumble Pinky’s childlike sense of wonder. The eloquent mouse let out an exhausted sigh, surrendering to his roommate’s request.

“Fine, it’s a Pinky promise.” He confirmed, giving in to his best friend’s plea. He showcased the pinky finger on his right hand. Brain carefully wrapped his pinky around Pinky’s, giving it a firm shake.

Once they untangled their pinkies, Pinky scooped Brain into a tight hug, to which Brain recoiled as he kicked his feet in the air. Pinky was unaware of Brain’s resistance as he twirled around. “Oh Brain, we are such kind and good and thoughtful mice! Zort!”

“That’s all well and good my personal-space-invading friend, but we first need to search the dump and obtain anything of monetary worth before we could perform our noble deed.” Brain recalled as he struggled to liberate himself from Pinky’s affectionate embrace. “Now would you be so kind as to put me down before we further indulge in any more mawkish sentiment?”

“Of course, Brain!” Pinky apologized as he gently lowered Brain on the ground. The pudgy mouse gave a curt nod to his companion before resuming their journey. The lanky mouse did his best to keep up with his roommate’s quick pace.

With their pact sealed, the mice ventured forth to the village dump in their desperate search for usable materials and anything of monetary worth.

By the time sunset rolled in, the mice were unable to find the materials for Brain’s invention. But they did come across an even better find. Brain searched through a rusty tin can only to discover three gold coins. After retrieving the coins, Pinky immediately grabbed one. With the assumption that he held a chocolate coin wrapped with gold tinfoil, the mouse scratched at the sides in the hopes that he could remove the wrapping. Brain rolled his eyes and inspected the other two coins, observing them in great detail to check if they were real or counterfeit. After minutes of inspecting the symbols and inscriptions as well as testing their physicality, Brain confirmed that the gold coins were authentic. The mice then fled the town dump, absconding the valuable currency in their paws.

Brain held two of the coins over his head and Pinky held the third coin in his arms. The chubby mouse already planned out the different ways to spend their newly acquired wealth. The first coin would be given to the Warners (in keeping with his Pinky Promise to Pinky), the second coin would be used to purchase food from the grocers, and the third coin would be used to fund Brain’s latest plan for world domination.

In the words of the classic show tune, they’re in the money!

The two companions sprinted down the street as fast as their little feet allowed. They needed to avoid drawing attention from the greedy local tax collector, Baron von Plotz, and his bumbling lackey, Ralph the Constable, as well any person willing to get their hands on the money.

Brain was a few paces ahead, desperate to return to their home with the coins. Pinky, despite his physical agility, was distracted when a somber sight caught his eyes.

Pinky noticed the Warners forlornly trudging inside their ramshackle home in the abandoned water tower. Oh, how his heart ached at the sight of the downtrodden children. But as he gripped the coin in his hold, he remembered what he needed to do to cheer them up!

Unfortunately Pinky failed to see where he was going and tripped over the cobblestone street, landing with a thud. As he fell, he accidentally let go of his coin, which went rolling down the street.

“Oh no!” Pinky gasped, alerting Brain. The pudgy mouse whipped his head around to see the fleeing coin. He was about to intervene when the coin made a right turn and went straight into the sewer grate.

They stared in shock as they watched the coin disappear before their very eyes.

Brain felt his anger rising like a kettle filled with boiling hot water. He snorted and gritted his teeth as he confronted the bumbling mouse.

“Pinky, you clumsy nincompoop!” Brain snapped, clenching his fists with rage. The mouse furiously stomped over towards his roommate.

Pinky closed his eyes and lowered his head, expecting a particularly hard bop on the head. This was all his fault. If only he had paid attention!

As Pinky waited to receive his blows, he heard the sounds of two coins clinking together followed by two small paws hitting a particularly hard object and the aggravated grunts of his roommate.

Pinky opened his eyes and turned around to see Brain taking out his aggression on the dilapidated picket fence. After a few additional jabs, the smaller mouse looked at the fence, his breathing slowing to calmer breaths.

After releasing his anger, Brain picked up the two coins and resumed the trek back home. “Come along Pinky,” He called out while keeping his eyes on the trail ahead. “let’s return to our home and prepare for tomorrow night.”

“But Brain, what about the poor kiddies?” Pinky asked concernedly.

“What about them?” Brain spat without stopping.

“But we have to give one of our coins to the children!” Pinky reminded his roommate. He could feel his eyes starting to water.

Brain groaned and turned to face the taller mouse. “We need the money, Pinky! One coin to put bread on the table, and the other to pay for our latest plan to take over the world!”

“But you Pinky promised, Brain!” Pinky cried out as tears streamed down his cheeks. “And a Pinky promise is the most important promise of all!”

The lanky mouse fell onto his knees, ignoring the frigid dampness of the snow beneath him. Putting his head in his hands, Pinky sobbed uncontrollably, curling himself into a pitiful ball in the snow.

Brain stared at his distraught friend and was immediately overcome with guilt. He hated seeing Pinky cry. Even more so, he hated the fact that he made Pinky cry. Brain winced at his inconsolable companion and looked to his gloved hands instead. There were two sides of him battling among themselves as he pondered. His ambitious side told him that world domination was more important and that he could make reparations after he ascended to power. But his heart told him that he needed to place the well-being of others before himself, no matter how much it wounded his pride. With a forlorn sigh, Brain concluded that he didn’t want to sour his relationship with Pinky by backing out on his promise. He needed to do the right thing and fulfill his promise.

Brain courageously shifted his gaze back at Pinky, who was still crying his eyes out with ragged breaths as a disgusting amount of snot oozed from his nostrils. The pudgy mouse knew that he needed to cheer up his soft-hearted companion.

“I did, didn’t I?” Brain softly replied, his voice laced with remorse. Pinky’s ears perked and immediately stared at his friend. The lanky mouse wordlessly nodded as he took his red scarf and blew out the snot from his bulbous red nose.

With a deep sigh, Brain walked over to Pinky and shoved one of the coins into his chest. The lanky mouse instinctively held the coin tight, knowing now that he needed to be extra careful not to lose the money. Pinky looked over to see Brain making his way over to the worn-down water tower.

“Come along Pinky, I believe we need to pay the orphans a surprise visit.” Brain quietly ordered.

Pinky’s glistened as an optimistic smile broke out. Brain had kept his Pinky Promise after all! The lanky mouse eagerly sprinted to join his shorter friend by his side.

“Oh thank you, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed joyfully. “I can’t wait to make the little kiddies smile!”

Brain looked at Pinky, whose cheerful attitude was now restored, and gave a small smile in return.

The mice cautiously entered the ramshackle home through the open door, which was susceptible to the cold gusts of wind that blew through Acme Falls. They quietly walked through the broken down home and scanned their surroundings. The water tower was laid bare with the exception of a few worn-out pieces of furniture. Blue tattered curtains that divided the living space, a wooden bureau that held a burning candle, and a makeshift bed which was currently occupied by Yakko and Dot.

The eldest Warner brother and the Warner sister were tucked underneath the quilt blanket. Pinky and Brain remained in the shadows as they heard Yakko enchanting Dot with a bedtime story.

“Once upon a time, a brave knight married a beautiful princess and they had two sons.” Yakko recited with a gentle smile.

“But they wanted a daughter too!” Dot said eagerly.

“Right, so they planted a garden all over the kingdom,” Yakko explained as he draped his arm around his little sister. “and on the first day of spring every flower in that garden bloomed. And out of the prettiest flower came...”

“Me!” Dot chirped, pointing towards herself.

“Yup!” Yakko affirmed, causing Dot to snuggle up to her brother.

The mice also noticed Wakko appearing from behind the tattered blue curtains. The middle child played around with the fabric as he listened to the tale.

“And so the knight and his bride, Mom and Dad, took you home. And every night at bedtime they’d come in and say, ‘who’s the girl?’” Yakko asked as he affectionately nuzzled his nose into Dot’s. “And you’d say,”

“I am!” She confidently declared, gesturing to herself once again.

“And they’d ask ‘how’d you ever get so cute!” Yakko asked, nuzzling her nose once again. “And you’d say,”

“I was born that way.” She boasted as she crossed her arms.

“And they’d say ‘tell us your name young lady’” Yakko requested as he gently booped his sister’s nose with his index finger. “And you’d say,”

“Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fana Bo Besca the Third!” The Warner sister stated as she clasped her hands together. “But you can call me Dot!”

Yakko smiled at his younger sister. “And they’d say ‘can we call you Dottie?’ and you’d say,”

“No, just Dot.” Dot commanded with a serious look on her face. “Call me Dottie and you die!” She warned.

“And Mom and Dad would laugh and laugh and laugh, and tickle ya!” He said whilst tickling his sister, causing her to giggle. “And you’d laugh too! And you’d fall asleep with a great big smile in your heart!”

Hidden within the shadows, the mice had listened in on the endearing bedtime story. Brain felt something stir within him as he heard the story of their parents. Was it pity? Sympathy, perhaps? He couldn’t tell. Brain awkwardly focused on the coin he held, feeling like he was intruding on an intimate family moment. Something told him that he should just flee the scene, but his feet remained planted on the floor.

Meanwhile Pinky sniffled as he was moved to tears by the lovely tale. The mouse thought about what the children’s lives might have been when they lived with their parents. What kinds of activities did they like to do? Did they like gardening or were they more into arts and crafts? Did their Dad like to ride them around on his back like a horsie? Did their Mom bake some nice chocolate chip cookies for the kiddies? Did they all like to sit by the fireplace on a snowy evening all wrapped up in blankets and snuggle on the sofa together? And to think that the poor kiddies were robbed of more bonding time with their parents and now had to live in a worn-down water tower. Pinky felt the tears fall down his face as he gazed at the Warners making the most out of what little they had.

“I like that story!” Dot proclaimed.

“I like that story too. Narf!” Pinky agreed in a wavering voice.

The strange response alerted the three children. Yakko and Dot instinctively hugged each other while Wakko sprinted from behind the curtain and leaped onto the bed to join his siblings. The kids were frightened that a mysterious person entered their home.

Yakko kept his younger siblings in a protective hug as he scanned the room. “W-who said that?” He loudly inquired, trying his hardest to hide his fearfulness with a hardened look on his face.

“My associate did.” Brian addressed in a monotone voice, tugging Pinky’s hand as they stepped into the light. Brain wore a tired frown as he stared at the Warners, while Pinky used his scarf to dab the tears from his eyes. The smaller mouse noted the fearful looks on the children’s faces and tried his best to soothe their worries. “Pinky and I have no intentions of bringing about any harm, so there’s no need to be frightened.”

The Warners released a collective sigh of relief at the tiny strangers.

“Are you leprechauns?” Wakko asked curiously with a pointed finger.

“Actually we are a pair of genetically altered lab mice trying very hard to get by during these trying times and plotting to take over the world.” Brain explained in earnest. “But my friend Pinky here has something he wants to give to you.”

The smaller mouse ushered his taller friend to approach the children. “Oh, right-o!” The lanky mouse remembered.

With a joyful smile, Pinky sprinted towards the mattress, carrying the coin in his hands. Brain stood by the edge of the shadows, clutching their last coin to his chest as he watched his Good Samaritan of a roommate perform his good deed. Once Pinky made it over to the bed, he lifted the coin, offering it to the Warners. “Here you go!” He chirped.

The siblings looked at each other in disbelief.

“Well go on, it’s yours! Zort!” Pinky cheerfully insisted.

“You’re just gonna give away that large sum of money to us?” Yakko asked incredulously.

“Well, it’s from me and my best friend!” Pinky explained sincerely, nodding over to Brain. The big-headed mouse’s face faltered, surprised that Pinky would share the spotlight in his good deed.

“Brain was the one who found the coins, and we decided to share the money with you! Zort!” Pinky pleasantly told the children, causing Brain’s to draw a ragged breath.

“I don’t deserve such praise from Pinky…” The smaller mouse pondered. As his eyes started to water, he rapidly blinked his eyelids to fight off the tears that threatened to fall.

Yakko graciously accepted the coin from Pinky and inspected both sides. He knocked the coin on the bedpost and smiled. “Yup, it’s real!”

Wakko and Dot cheered as they took turns holding the gold coin, their eyes glimmered with fascination at their newfound wealth. Pinky’s blue eyes shined, elated to see the smiles on the poor children’s face, and even happier that he did his part to contribute to their joy.

Having fought back his tears, Brain briefly smiled at the sight.

“Thank you guys so much!” Dot exclaimed gratefully. She leaned down and patted Pinky’s head, who eagerly tapped his foot at the affectionate gesture.

“Man, I wish we could think of some way to repay you two,” Wakko added, turning his attention toward the smaller mouse.

Brain frowned as he shook his head. “There’s no need to fret over that. You children don’t owe us anything.” He shoved a hand into his fur pocket and tucked the gold coin underneath his other arm. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my associate and I must swiftly return home to avoid detection from the greedy tax collector.” He informed. With a quick turn, the eloquent mouse walked back into the shadow and made his exit from the shabby water tower.

“Goodnight kiddies!” Pinky cheered as he followed his roommate.

“Goodnight!” The Warners chorused, beaming their grateful smiles at the mice. Pinky returned the smile before he left.

Pinky stepped outside into the bitter cold, still warmed from helping out the poor orphans. With a joyful laugh, the mouse skipped and twirled around on the village street. All of his remorse from accidentally losing the third coin was washed away and replaced with the joy and giddiness from seeing the precious smiles on the Warners’ faces. A sentimental image that he will always hold in his heart. Oh, how wonderful it was for him and Brain to lend a helping hand!

As Pinky glanced at Brain, who still had his hand in his pocket and stopped in the alley near their humble abode. The taller mouse ceased his twirling and approached his most trusted companion.

“Oh Brain, wasn’t it wonderful to see the kiddies happy?” Pinky happily asked. But he did not receive a response. Brain remained silent as he looked up at the starry sky above.

“Brain?” Pinky carefully addressed.

“Why did you share the credit with me?” Brain softly inquired, still looking up at the night sky.

Pinky didn’t hesitate to answer his query. “Because you were the one who found the coins while we were dumpster diving,” He eagerly explained. “and if it weren’t for you then we would have gone back home empty-handed and the kiddies would still be penniless! Zort!”

Brain turned his head towards Pinky, stunned by his roommate’s reasoning. He then let out a tired exhale and walked through the front door of their humble home.

After a few seconds of staring at the doorway, Pinky cautiously followed Brain’s footprints. The taller mouse stopped to take a step next to one of the footprints before taking a step back. Pinky gazed at the different footprints, his feet were remarkably bigger than Brain’s, which were practically tiny. But despite how different they appeared, the footprints were close together like two very good friends. Much like how he was close to Brain. The lanky mouse smiled at the two footprints for a few moments longer before heading inside.

When Pinky arrived, he saw his roommate extinguish the match he used to light the candle that sat atop the bureau near their matchbox bed. The lanky mouse silently yanked the string on the pull-down screen that Brain used to map out his schemes as a feeble attempt to keep out the cold winds.

The chubby mouse tossed aside his purple scarf and brown fingerless gloves. He retrieved his blue nightgown and nightcap from the bureau and changed into his pajamas.

Pinky swiftly moved behind the wooden beam to respect his roommate’s privacy. The lanky mouse took off his scarf and dressed in his yellow nightgown and nightcap. After waiting patiently for a minute he decided to call out to Brain.

“Can I come over now?” He asked.

“Certainly.” Brain answered in an unusually quiet voice.

Pinky emerged from behind the beam and carefully approached Brain, now dressed in his pajamas. The smaller mouse wore a particularly forlorn expression that greatly worried Pinky.

“Is something wrong Brain?” He softly inquired.

The chubby mouse sighed as he brushed the dust off of his blue nightgown. He looked into his roommate’s soft blue eyes and was captivated by the compassion they seemed to exude. After getting lost in the pool of his companion’s loving stare, Brain darted his own pink eyes to the floor and was compelled to address what was on his mind.

“I don’t know what you see in me, Pinky…” Brain admitted as he pulled back the covers of their bed and got into bed.

Pinky quietly listened to the sullen confession. But he couldn’t understand why Brain would say such things.

Why Brain’s the most determined and hard-working person he ever met! Even when his plans to take over the world backfired, he rarely dwelled on his failures and got right back up, eager to come up with another plan. And Pinky was well aware that while there were many good and wonderful things in the world (like Brain, Pharfignewton, and ice sculptures made from frozen spit) there were many bad, awful things in the world (like that awful meanie King Saladbar and his terrible taxes). But Brain was motivated to take over the world so he could make it a better place for everyone!

And even though Brain can be grumpy, he and Pinky did almost everything together! Living in the same place, sharing the same bed, and even working on plans to take over the world together! Pinky loved and respected Brain. Brain just needed to be reminded of how important he was.

“Well, I see my best friend in the whole world.” Pinky offered with a gentle smile.

Brain’s eyes widened in shock, kneading his fingers over the thin purple blanket. While he was always pondering over his plans and focused on fulfilling his destiny to take over the world, he sometimes forgot about how Pinky held him in such high-regards. That imbecilic mouse was simply too good for this world.

If Brain was being honest with himself, he didn’t deserve to have a friend like Pinky. But then again, he needed to have someone like Pinky in his life. Someone who supported his goals for world domination, but wasn’t afraid to usher him to use his heart when making decisions as opposed to his superior intellect. And despite his easily distracted nature and occasional clumsiness, Pinky was an absolute godsend of a friend. Always eager to assist Brain in his schemes, making his favorite meals, and cheering him up when he needed it most. Brain loved Pinky, but he could never bring himself to admit that.

Instead of professing his honest musings, the eloquent mouse simply looked into his roommate’s beautiful blue eyes once more with a sad smile on his lips. “That’s very kind of you, my charitable chum.”

Pinky smiled, happy that Brain was feeling better than he was earlier. The taller mouse hopped into bed and settled himself next to the mouse he admired. While Pinky laid on his back, Brain shifted over on the right side of the bed, curling himself into a protective ball.

A gust of cold wind blew through the makeshift shield that covered their front door and into their home. Brain shuddered as he felt the frigid wind seep into his fur and instinctively rubbed his arms for warmth. Even the added layers of his nightgown and blanket weren’t enough for the freezing wind to seep into his fur.

Pinky noticed his shivering companion and it didn’t take long for the taller mouse to gently wrap his arms around his pudgy roommate, pulling him into a soft and affectionate embrace. He laid his chin on top of Brain’s large cranium, waiting for any sort of reaction from him.

For once, Brain didn’t bother to recoil from Pinky’s loving hug. Although his intellectual side insisted that he needed the extra warmth from his roommate’s body heat to combat the cold weather, his vulnerable side (as much as he tried to conceal it) reminded him that it was okay to accept the comfort his friend so kindly provided.

“Thank you…” He sighed contentedly, causing the lanky mouse to smile.

“Goodnight Brain.” Pinky said sweetly, keeping him in his gentle hold.

Brain smiled as he immersed himself in Pinky’s hug.

“Goodnight Pinky…”

Two Years Later

Inside the walls of the royal castle, Prime Minister Brain, now dressed in a black robe, white ruffled neckerchief, and curled powdered wig, was writing away in his office. With the strokes of his feathered pen, the mouse placed the finishing touches on the new laws he planned to propose to the monarchs: mandatory public education for all youths under eighteen which would be properly funded by the government and taxpayer money, the abolition of child labor, and the establishment of affordable healthcare. Knowing all of the hardships he, Pinky, and the other citizens of Acme Falls endured during the terrible reign of Salazar the Pushy, Brain vowed to use his political authority to undo the damage caused by the tyrant and enact positive social change to bolster a more prosperous Warnerstock.

The mouse grinned at the documents, immensely satisfied with his work. All he needed was the Warners’ stamp of approval before these new laws would be put into place.

He placed the feathered pen back into the ink jar, straightened out the papers, and got up from his seat. After stretching out his arms and back, he walked over to the window. Brain smiled as he admired the beautiful view of Acme Falls and the rest of the valley from the comfort of the castle.

He could hardly believe that his wish for a position of power had been granted.

After the events of the wishing star, the village of Acme Falls and the rest of Warnerstock was ushered into a new age of peace and prosperity. The purchases from Wakko’s two ha’pennies resulted in a thriving economy for the little town, which extended throughout the rest of the country. Once it was revealed that the Warners were actually the surviving children of King William the Good and Queen Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fana Bo Besca II, Salazar was removed from the throne. In his absence, Yakko, Wakko, and Dot Warner were crowned the new co-rulers of Warnerstock. During the transfer to power, the children needed to bring aboard someone who was trustworthy enough to assist them in governmental affairs and lead the cabinet of ministers. After reviewing all of the competent adult figures in Acme Falls in need of employment, they all agreed that Brain was the most qualified candidate for the job. The day after the interview, the Warner siblings appointed Brain as their Royal Advisor as well as the new Prime Minister of Warnerstock.

Coming off the heels of his years as a poor inventor with a desire for political power, Brain was thriving in his new career. His first order of business was to appoint Pinky to work in the stables. The chubby mouse recognized how important Pharfignewton was to his hopeless romantic of a roommate, so he decided to reward Pinky with the job that would allow him to spend more time with the mare he was so dearly fond of.

As the Royal Advisor to the new monarchs, Brain was responsible for lending his political expertise to the Warner siblings so that they would become capable and just rulers Warnerstock deserved. The small mouse applied his extensive knowledge of the previous world leaders to tutor them on the dos and don’ts of leading a country. But Brain quickly learned that the best way for the siblings to retain this knowledge was through the alluring power of music. As a result, Brain wrote and performed many songs about the monarchs of the past, the history of Warnerstock, and various aspects of political science, all of which were sung to the tunes of catchy folk songs and memorable classical music. Having to come up with new songs for each lesson proved to be a challenge for the Royal Advisor. Fortunately, King Yakko lent a helping hand and collaborated with Brain in his spare time to work on the songs.

Prime Minister Brain also performed skits with the Warners to practice appropriate behavior for when they needed to attend important social events outside of the castle. He hoped that by having the kids act out how to properly speak to their subjects, the kids would adopt those traits as they grow older.

Dot also consulted with Brain when it came to matters of party planning for royal balls. Researching the latest fashion trends, deciding what music would best fit the atmosphere, dealing with catering and decorations. Brain even recruited Pinky to teach the Warners how to properly waltz. As a result of their collaboration, their first royal ball proved to be a smashing success.

In addition to advising the Warners, Prime Minister Brain worked to fulfill all the duties that came with being the head of the government. In regards to overseeing the kingdom with the Warners, Brain did most of the heavy-lifting when it came to wielding political influence. The mouse led meetings with the Cabinet of Ministers to discuss matters of finances, education, and the like. He also drafted new laws and policies, as well as reviewing laws proposed by other members of the Cabinet, before awaiting approval from the Warners.

The reason why Brain accepted the extra work was so that the Warners could have some much-needed downtime for themselves to indulge in some crazy kid shenanigans all around the castle. After years of having fend for themselves, they deserved to act like regular kids and create cherished childhood memories while they were still young.

While being the Prime Minister of a small European country was not the same as being the supreme potentate of the globe, the mouse was thoroughly content with his current political career.

Perhaps in due time, Brain could convince the Warners to peacefully transfer their sovereign powers over to him while the siblings kept their royal titles and all the comforts that came with it. And with the kingdom under his control, he could use his status as the benevolent and undisputed ruler of Warnerstock to manipulate other world leaders to do his bidding and finally take over the world!

“Knock, knock!” He heard a distinguished cockney accent singing from behind the door.

“Come in, Pinky.” Brain commanded as he turned away from the window.

Pinky opened the door and waltzed into his office. The taller mouse twirled around and pranced towards the table as he sang the tune of Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.

“La la la la! La la la la! La la la la! La la la la!” Pinky belted out as he climbed up the table leg.

Once he perched himself on the table, he swiftly grabbed Brain and broke out into a giddy waltz. Brain blushed when his cheek collided with Pinky’s. The smaller mouse surrendered as he listened to the rest of the verse. While Pinky’s singing was not great by any means, Brain couldn’t help but smile as he saw the jubilant expression on the lanky mouse’s face.

After spinning around, Pinky gently placed Brain back on the table. The Prime Minister swiftly grabbed a hold of the taller mouse’s arm to steady himself. Once Brain regained his composure, he adjusted his powdered wig and looked up to Pinky. “I see you’re doing well for yourself, my rhythmically-agile friend.”

“Oh Brain, I had such a fun-fun silly-willy time with Pharfignewton this morning! After brushing her teeth and combing her mane, we took a ride around the royal gardens to admire the pretty flowers!” Pinky eagerly replied, clasping his paws together. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to work in the stables! Troz!”

“My pleasure, Pinky. Your happiness is important to me, my friend.” Brain said as he gently ruffled Pinky’s hair. The lanky mouse contentedly closed his eyes as he accepted the loving gesture.

Then the mice heard someone knocking on the door.

“You may enter.” Brain commanded, swiftly placing his hands behind his back.

The door opened and three royally dressed children entered the room. King Yakko, King Wakko, and Queen Dot happily smiled at the mice. The children were adorned in their sparkling regal attire. Brain noticed that the siblings were considerably healthier now that they had a stable roof over their heads and were financially well off.

“Ah, good afternoon your excellencies.” Brain politely addressed with a short bow.

“Good day your majesties!” Pinky exclaimed as he dramatically fell to the table, bowing before the children.

“Aw come on fellas, there’s no need for over-the-top formalities,” Yakko assured as he motioned for Pinky to stand up.

“Yeah, you two are cool with us,” Wakko added.

“We just wanted to drop by to see how you two were doing.” Dot said.

“We’re doing just swell, my queen! Narf!” Pinky gushed “Why I had a grand old time taking care of Pharfignewton and riding her around the castle.”

“How wonderful!” Dot happily replied as she gently scooped Pinky into her hands.

“And you three arrived at the perfect time, for I just completed my proposal.” Brain declared as he collected his papers.

“Oh, who’s the lucky lover?” Yakko asked with a cheeky grin.

Brain quickly glanced at Pinky and promptly shook his head. “I wasn’t referring to that type of proposal and I’m not courting anyone at the moment.”

“We could wield our power to arrange some dates for you if you’d like.” Dot offered with a sly smile. “I know someone who would be the perfect romantic partner.” She looked at the Prime Minister while giving a subtle gesture towards Pinky.

“I know a few horses who are totally in your league!” Pinky added.

“That won’t be necessary.” Brain dismissed. The smaller mouse picked up his documents and walked over towards the monarch. “Now that you all addressed my imprecise wording in jest, I’ve recently drafted a new set of laws to improve the social welfare of our country and would greatly appreciate your feedback on the matter.”

Yakko grabbed the papers, with Wakko standing on his tippy-toes to get a better look at the documents. Dot placed Pinky back on the table with Brain and joined her older brothers. siblings as they perused through the proposed laws. But it wasn’t long before they were excited by what they were reading.

“Reforms on public education!” Yakko declared.

“No more child labor!” Wakko exclaimed.

“More accessible healthcare!” Dot eagerly shouted.

The young monarchs looked back at Brain with eager smiles. “Good work Prime Minister!” Yakko complimented. “All that’s left is the royal stamps of approval!”

The Warner siblings reached into their pockets and retrieved their stamps, happily marking the front page with three differently colored WB symbols.

Brain couldn’t help allow a satisfied smile on his face as his new laws were highly favored by the young kings and queen. “I’m elated to know that you three are pleased with these new laws.” He admitted.

“We just want to make Warnerstock a better place!” Dot insisted.

“I knew that we could trust you since you’re always looking out for the needs of the little guy,” Yakko mentioned. “Much like that time you and Pinky gave us a good portion of your life savings back when Acme Falls was a dump and everyone was dirt poor.”

“You kids remembered that?” Brain sputtered with wide eyes.

“Well of course! How could we forget about a kind thing like that?” Wakko asked.

Brain hadn’t realized the full extent to how he and Pinky had impacted the Warners with the gold coin. While Brain was mainly motivated to stay in Pinky’s good graces, Pinky’s kindness and compassion were what drew him to help the orphaned siblings in the first place. Brain felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn’t deserve their adulation.

“You should all praise Pinky, for he was the one who thought to help you three in the first place.” The Prime Minister confessed as he gestured to the lanky mouse. “He noticed how miserable you kids looked and he sought out to give you anything we could find and I promised I would help out. And while I did find three coins that day, we lost one of them and I was so close to breaking that promise…”

Pinky noticed his distraught companion and wanted to alleviate his woes. “But you still kept the Pinky Promise, Brain.” He consoled, placing a warm hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I can understand how you felt,” Dot interjected with an assuring tone. “You and Pinky were struggling to get by too, and in all honesty, had I been in your position I would have kept the money!”

“But you still followed through on your promise.” Yakko countered. “And, if my memory serves correct, you were the one who assured us that we didn’t have to pay you back.”

Brain was surprised that the Warners remembered their exchange so vividly.

“And even though you didn’t want any financial compensation, we still wanted to show our gratitude.” Yakko continued. “But after some time, we found the perfect way to repay the moment you walked in for the job interview when we scouted Acme Falls for our Royal Advisor.”

“So you selected me for the position solely out of moral obligation?” Brain questioned.

“Well, yes and no,” Yakko admitted. “Of course we needed a trustworthy adult who was highly educated and well-versed in politics and people skills. Qualities that the other candidates sorely lacked.”

“You have no idea how hard it was to conduct an interview with The Mime!” Dot interrupted.

“But from the very moment you showed up, we immediately remembered how you and Pinky helped us out a couple of years earlier,” Yakko explained. “And after listening to your compelling answers, my sibs and I agreed that you were the right guy for the job!”

“And even though you told us not to repay you, we still wanted to return the kindness,” Wakko added with a soft smile.

Brain was stunned by the siblings’ thoughtfulness. He could only gaze at the young monarchs as a single tear escaped.

It wasn’t long before Pinky pulled him into a gentle hug. Even though he frowned at being smothered with love in front of the monarchs, he secretly appreciated his friend’s affectionate gesture.

Dot reached into her pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. “Here you are, Prime Minister.” The young queen kindly offered. Brain nodded as he accepted the cloth, wiping away the tear from his face.

Once he placed the handkerchief on the table, he motioned for Pinky to release him from the embrace. Brain straightened out his black robe and adjusted his neckerchief to maintain his orderly appearance. The Prime Minister remembered that there had to be a reason why the monarchs visited him during work hours.

“So to avoid any more mawkish sentiment, is there anything I could do for you while you’re still in my office?” Brain inquired.

“Oh yeah!” Wakko exclaimed, remembering why he and his siblings dropped by in the first place. “We just wanted to drop by and invite you and Pinky to have lunch with us!”

Reaching into his pocket, the middle child took out a folded table, which popped open to reveal plates and bowls filled with a variety of food that was still warm. Wakko carefully placed the banquet in the middle of the office. Yakko grabbed three chairs and gathered them around the table.

Dot carried the mice over to the table and placed them in front of two plates each holding a large wheel of cheese.

“Naaarf.” Pinky expressed, his blue eyes glistening with joy at the glorious giant cheese wheel. Without warning, the mouse leaped into the air and dove into the cheese as if it was a giant swimming pool.

“I suppose it’s only appropriate to take my lunch break now.” Brain affirmed with a shrug. He took a handful of the cheese and looked up at the Warner siblings. “Thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Pinky emerged from the cheese wheel and looked up at the kids. “Thank you very much! Troz!” He added with an eager smile.

“We’re always happy to provide for our friends!” Yakko casually replied.

And so the mice and the monarchs happily shared their meals together, making pleasant conversation and jests and enjoying each other’s company.

Additional AN: Wakko’s Wish was one of the many animated movies I was really fond of as a kid. The movie came out direct-to-video when I was seven, and I have memories of taking out Wakko’s Wish from Blockbuster (as well as other Animaniacs VHS tapes) and had a blast with this movie.

I recently revisited the movie and not only do I still like it, but there are a lot of things I appreciate about it. I like how it manages to capture the humorous spirit of the show and showcased the enjoyable character dynamics while telling a heartwarming story with believable stakes. The animation by TMS is beautiful and the musical numbers were pretty good. But probably my favorite aspect of the movie was that it served as a nice finale to the show and gave the majority of the characters satisfying send-offs: Rita and Runt receiving a permanent home when they’re adopted by Dr. Scratchinsniff, Buttons getting some appreciation, The Goodfeathers blissfully under the impression that they’re respected, and Brain receiving a position of power by becoming the Royal Advisor to the Warners and the Prime Minister of Warnerstock. And after seeing Brain try and try again after so many failures, it’s a really nice and fitting conclusion to his story (even if he doesn’t take over the world, he’d probably thrive as a government leader).

So in addition to writing a story based on the previously mentioned post, I decided to expand upon Brain’s position as Prime Minister and Royal Advisor for the Warners, thinking about what their general relationship would be like. The idea of Brain using songs to lend political advice to the Warners was something that came serendipitously as I was writing. I thought about Brain’s political song numbers from the PATB spin-off, such as the glorious The Really Great Dictator and the wonderful A Meticulous Analysis of History, as well as Yakko’s educational songs. So those two would probably spend some time together as a collaborative song-writing duo lol. I also thought about how the Warners would love to throw parties at the castle, so Dot and Brain as party planners was the first thing that came to mind as well as Pinky as a part-time dance instructor!

Admittedly I kinda winged it when it came to using the gold coins as the thing Pinky and Brain found. I’m well aware that the ha’penny is seen as valuable to the citizens of Acme Falls, but I decided to place this story one year before Wakko went off to find his fortune via child labor. So I’m going off on the assumption that there was some higher currency that was still used in Acme Falls that was eventually confiscated by Baron von Plotz.

The most important aspect I wanted to explore in this story was the loving relationship between Pinky and Brain. Their voice actors confirmed time and time again how much Pinky and Brain love each other. Now whether you interpret their relationship as a strong friendship, partners in crime, or even as a romance, there is no denying the love between these silly mice.

Also, I don’t recall if there was a moment in either the original run of Animaniacs or the PATB spin-off where Pinky and Brian made a pinky promise (if they didn’t, then they wasted an opportunity for a comedic or sentimental moment between the characters), so I thought about how they would only make pinky promises for something serious, and Brain would always keep his pinky promises to Pinky.

I had a lot of fun writing this story in particular because I always wanted to explore more of the Wakko’s Wish universe and add some depth to what was presented in the film as well as playing around with what the characters would be up to after the events of the movie.

Thank you for reading!

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #patb #wakko's wish #fanfic #brain #pinky #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Disinterpretation

I finally finished the Sarah Z video about “pro vs. anti”. It’s pretty long, and I ended up watching it in chunks over several days, but I think it’s worth watching, especially if you’re sort of partially connected to online fandom, but not enough to be aware of all the lingo.

As I expected, the whole thing was vague and confusing because the people involved in the conflict made it vague and confusing. In theory, the full terms would be “pro-shipping” and “anti-shipping”, but it seems like it’s more about particular kinds of ships that could be considered controversial. But that’s a slippery slope, and apparently the whole conflict mutated into both sides deciding that every hypothetical relationship between fictional characters is either equally valid or equally dangerous.

Long story short, it’s just purity culture, which was what everyone on Tumblr was calling it around 2012. But now, if you’re a sane person who genuinely asks: “Who gives a fuck about Voltron?”, these people will jump your ass and accuse you of being on the side of their enemies. “Children have died over the importance of Lotor/Hagger! Your callous indifference proves that you yourself must have murdered children!”

I think what Sarah Z really hit upon in this video was that media consumption has become so ingrained in our culture that people feel like it has to go hand-in-hand with our morality. That is, it’s not enough for me to watch Star Trek, I have to justify Star Trek as evidence that I’m a good person. Maybe this is where the expression “guilty pleasure” comes from. Conversely, it’s not enough for me to not watch Dr. Who, I have to somehow convince everyone that Dr. Who was invented by the devil.

I’m pretty sure the Reylo ship has a lot to do with this, since it’s kind of understood to be a dark, problematic concept, and fans either embrace its flaws or recoil in horror because of them. Star Wars itself is a dumb story about space wizards, so people try to give the debate more weight by linking it to freedom of self expression and/or enabling real world harm. Suddenly it’s not enough to just think two actors would look cute making out instead of fighting. Now it’s this battlefield for the soul of civilization or something.

I grew up in the 80′s, when “concerned parents” and grifters would accuse the Smurfs and metal bands of promoting satanism and witchcraft. I used to hear stories of teens going out into the woods in the middle of the night to do occult stuff, and all I could ever think about was: “Why would anyone bother wandering out in the woods in the middle of the night?” Which is why “concerned parents” turned their attention to things that were closer to home, like Saturday morning cartoons. It had nothing to do with the content; it was just about finding a safe, accessible target for their hysteria. Some people want to go on a crusade without leaving the house, so they pick a fight with Papa Smurf instead of confronting the real evils in the world. Even as a kid, I knew this was a con, because I’d watched the show for myself and knew it was too saccharine to be threat to anyone.

The pro/anti folks have tried to disguise this with a lot of terminology. I wondered why they seemed to reluctant to use the full terms “pro-shipper” and “anti-shipper”, and it’s probably a couple of things. First, the word “shipper” is basically an admission that this is pointless bullshit that doesn’t matter, and they’d like to avoid that connotation. Second, they seem to have decided that this goes beyond shipping itself, into practically anything else they want it to involve. It’s all part of the con, which is to make you believe that it’s “us vs. them”, and you can be part of “us” by curating specific attitudes about Steven Universe.

Seriously, “about Steven Universe” is such an incredible punchline. You can make anything funnier by adding those three words to the end of a sentence. “Do not interact if you blog about Steven Universe.” “Hey, what’s up, YouTube, this is SSJ3RyokoLover69, and this is going to be kind of a serious video about Steven Universe.” “Mrs. Johnson, the results of your biopsy are in, and I have some bad news about Steven Universe.” It’s a fucking kids show. “Oh no, all the characters look like the characters in all the other kids shows!” Yeah, that’s because it’s a kids show. Marvin looks like Garfield, this isn’t new.

The common denominator here seems to be that both sides try to wrap themselves in the flag of vulnerable groups: impressionable minors, trauma survivors, harassment victims, etc. The “pros” want to protect those people so that they can feel free to explore weird subject matter on their own terms, and the “antis” want to protect the same people from being exposed to weird subject matter that they might not want to see. It’s all about establishing a moral high ground. Back in the day, it was called “sanctimony”.

But people get roped into this, because at their core, people want approval, and this stupid conflict offers them a sense of community. As long as you support the cause, whatever it may be, you’ll have this online friend network that appears to support anything you do. But if you deviate from their norm, you’ll be cast out. Does this sound familiar?

To use a more familiar example, I still sometimes find people clamoring about Gochi vs. Vegebul. I’ve never understood this, because both ships were canon, and I never saw much direct evidence of a war between them, but people would still talk about how crazy the Vegebul shippers were, and how crazy the Gochi shippers were, and it was like some huge thing going on just over the hills. It’s the same idea, since the idea that you could like both or neither never seems to occur to anyone involved. I never gave a shit, because I used to see the same dumb agendas in the Harry Potter fandom.

Okay, so let me take you back. It’s 2005 through 2011, and I’m hateblogging all seven Harry Potter novels, because fuck you, that’s why. The funny thing I encountered was that occasionally fans seemed to want to pretend like my bashing of certain characters was proving them right somehow. They were like “See? He hates Ron Weasley too! That proves that Seamus Finnegan is the coolest guy ever.” The Slytherin stans would do this all the time, because I would constantly take the piss out of the Gryffindor characters for being self-important dopes. I think they just liked hearing it from an outside perspective. But I had to keep reminding them all that I hated all of them. Every character from Harry Potter sucks ass. Voldemort was my favorite, but only because he was the one guy who wanted to kill all of the others. But he sucks too because he failed.

And the shippers were the same way. I’d say something shitty about Ron, because Ron sucks, and some smartass Joss Whedon fan would be like “Yes! Boost the signal! That is why Harry/Hermione is the best ship!” And I’d be like “No, Harry and Hermione suck at least as bad as Ron does. They’re all terrible and I hate them.” I really do think there was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome going on with Harry Potter books, where everyone secretly knows they suck, but the fans sort of latch on to one or two characters and go like “Well, he’s not as shitty as the rest.” Like finding spaghetti in the trash and picking out the meatball with the least amount of lint on it. Then you’d go and start a flamewar with some other starving person over whether your meatball is shittier than theirs. This is what people mean when they say to read another book.

Anyway, the big thing I picked up from Sarah Z’s video is “disinterpretation”, a term coined by MSNBC columnis Zeeshan Aleem. The Twitter thread is worth a read, but the short version is that he once remarked that a Julia Louis-Dreyfus routine wasn’t very good, and someone got mad at him for insinuating that women are incapable of being funny. They just took his dissatisfaction with one performance by one comedian as being a universal condemnation of women comedians in general. And this sort of thing is all over the internet. Everyone sees what they want to see and then they take it as permission to overreact.

I ran into this myself a while back, because someone saw who I interacted with on Twitter and decided that they’re all bad guys and if I have any interaction with them, then that makes me a bad guy too. At the time I tried to play it cool, but the more I think about it, the more it ticks me off. And over the course of that conversation, it was said that I don’t talk about myself much, and that’s kind of funny, because all I ever do on social media is write long-ass blog posts like this one. I don’t expect anyone to memorize them, or even read them all the way through, but when I write all this stuff and someone goes out of their way to say they don’t know anything about me, the message is that they just didn’t pay attention to what I was saying, and they didn’t bother to try.

So I’m a little jaded from that, because I got called out for a bunch of stuff I didn’t even do or say, and apparently that’s just a thing that happens. People will reject you for completely arbitrary reasons, not because of anything you actually said or did, and you’re left thinking you made some terrible mistake. Except, no, I’ve seen it happen to other people, people a lore more conscientious than I am, and if they can’t satisfy the bullshit purity standards, then I never stood a chance. If the game is rigged so I can’t win, then I’m not going to play.

And it’s that same condition that probably draws people into these online holy wars, because if you declare yourself for the pro or anti side, at least then you’ll have a posse backing you up. Only they don’t support you, they support your willingness to support them. Once your commitment to their agenda wavers, even in the slightest, they will turn against you.

Sarah Z suggests that both sides of the war drop the pro and anti terms, since they lost all meaning long ago. But that just invites a new set of useless terms to perpetuate the same cycle. Her more useful advice is for fandom people to broaden their horizons. She got a lot of flak for tweeting “Go outside” once, but the ironic thing is that it’s sound advice. I had lunch with my mom yesterday and it was just nice getting away from things for a while. People need to do that more often, and unfortunately it feels like it’s harder to do than ever before.

But “go outside” isn’t just a literal thing. It can mean going beyond your usual haunts, reading the same books, watching the same shows, rehashing the same conversations. I think the reason this stuff always revolves around “shipping” is because there seems to be this deep-seated compulsion to pair fictional characters off like this, and for a lot of folks it’s the only way they can consume a story, so they do. And they do it lot, and there’s a lot of them, and they do it the same way every time, and lo and behold the same old conflicts start up. So maybe “go outside” should mean “go outside of that cycle once in a while.” Just a thought.

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absolutepx · 3 years

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So I've been playing Death Stranding lately. Wait, that's not what this post is about. Well, it kind of is. Hang on. What is Death Stranding about?

A: Norman Reedus getting bare ass naked B. Sneaking around ghosts with the help of your sidekick, an actual baby C: Carrying 50 Amazon packages up a hill while trying to not topple over D: Waking up in the morning and drinking 5 Monster Energy™ for breakfast

For those following along at home, the answer is actually none of the above. Despite the set dressing being bizarre to the point of near absurdity, what the game is actually about, like thematically, is actually really simple.

See, the development of Death Stranding was actually quite a trip. Hideo Kojima is the video game world's equivalent of an auteur director. He has a very recognizable personal style. It's thoroughly horny – he caught a bunch of shit for the design of Quiet in MGSV, but like, a lot of Kojima characters are just -like that-, including the dudes. Also, this is going to possibly be important later.

Anyway, so Kojima was going to do a rebootmakequel of Silent Hill, and the demo actually made it to the PS store and I could actually write a whole side essay about why P.T. (it was called P.T. for some reason btw) was brilliant game design for how it used the same hallway over and over and it was somehow beneficial to the overall feeling of horror. So Konami it turns out kinda sucks nowadays and they like, fired Kojima (they were huge dicks about it behind closed doors, too) and scrapped the project and kicked him out on the street and kept the Metal Gear series which was his baby (literally the baby in the sink in P.T., he snuck a bunch of messaging about the Konami situation into the demo like a breakup album) and Kojima would go on to form his own studio and poach some of the people who worked with him to boot. So the thing about Kojima is this: he's got a reputation for already putting some wild shit in his games, like a ladder that takes like 10 real time minutes to climb in MGS3 for dramatic effect, and a boss in MGS3 that summons the ghosts of all the people you were too lazy to stealth past and killed, or a sniper battle with a really old guy that he wanted to have last two weeks or some shit until he died of old age but he was "told that "this was impossible and not recommended." That is a real quote I just looked up. So he's coming off the heels of making this hugely successful game with MGSV and the hype of the P.T. Demo and he fucking, he like took all the people that were going to be working on P.T. Along like Guillermo Del Toro was going to co-write it and Norman Reedus was going to star in it, and he's like, I'm going to make this game called Death Stranding. And the first trailer comes out for it and it's completely nuts. Norman Reedus wakes up naked on a beach crying with a baby and there are floating people in the sky? So we're all like hooooooly shit, there's no one to tell him "this is impossible and not recommended" anymore. What's he going to make now!?

So the whole time the game is in development I keep seeing these tweets where it'll be like, Kojima and one of his homies smiling with some saccharine message about being spiritual warriors and changing the world. And not just Del Toro and Reedus, there was Mads Mikkelsen (another guy Kojima puts in the game just because he apparently loves him), and the band Chvches, and also like, Keanu Reeves at one point? You know how everyone has just kind of accepted that Keanu is a being of light? Here he was endorsing Kojima. The hype was pretty confused and frantic.

The game eventually comes out. A lot of game journos hate it because I think there was this expectation it was going to be, you know, less weird and have more of the conventional structure of a video game. That's not to say the average gamer wasn't also dismissive of it, but I think on the ground level there was more of an understanding that like, yeah, Kojima just be like that sometimes.

Because the game was a timed console exclusive and your homie don't play like that, I spent the first year or so cautiously viewing Death Stranding from a distance. I wasn't sure I was going to like it – except for being really impressed with P.T., I wasn't actually a big fan of Kojima's games as games – but I -was- sure that I was going to buy it, because of the way Konami fucked him over, just out of support. And the shit I was hearing was really out there. The primary mode of gameplay is just delivery packages. You collect Norman Reedus' bathwater and pee and use it as grenades. You get a motorcycle that looks like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus, and when you sit on it, his character in the game says "Wow, this thing is like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus!"

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But I didn't really want to know that much about it. Something has that much fucking crazy person energy, you want to go in mostly blind, right? So maybe people just weren't talking about this, or maybe I wasn't seeing it, but then I watched Girlfriend Reviews' video about it and they came right out and said it (link provided if you want to hear Shelby say it more articulately than me):

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Death Stranding is basically about the exact opposite of Twitter. It's about remembering how to be kind to each other, how to reconnect in a world where people are so often hostile to each other by default. Prophetically, it's about a world where people are afraid to go outside or touch other people and how damaging that is. It's not a game about carrying packages, it's a game about helping people by being brave enough to walk through a wasteland carrying their burdens because they can't. It's about rebuilding the lost connections between people, about restoring roads and giving people hope. I bet, for Kojima and the people close to him, it's about how to answer hostility with compassion. You can't kill people in Death Stranding. You can and are absolutely encouraged to fucking throw hands with people sometimes, but all the tools and weapons are nonlethal. So I think Kojima took all the Twitter heat he got over the Quiet nontroversy, and all the feelings of isolation he had from Konami separating him from his team during the end of the development of MGSV, and all the support and encouragement he got from his bros Del Toro and Mads and the rest, and decided to channel that into making a game that was a statement about all of it. And sure, it's a little heavy handed, and sure, it's a little saccharine, and sure, the gameplay sometimes borders on miserable in service of creating emotional payoffs. For me, especially in 2020, this message is a huge success. Social media should be an opportunity for all of us to feel more connected to each other, yet primarily it feels like one of the main forces driving people apart. Why is that? Why is the internet of today such a hostile place? I'm old enough to remember web 1.0: I can haz cheezburger memes; YTMND; the early wild west days of Youtube... What happened to us? I've thrown the blame at Twitter in the past, and I think the architecture of the user experience on Twitter is absolutely a big piece of the puzzle, because it fosters negative interactions. But in terms of the behavior, people have observed that 2018 Twitter was actually almost exactly like 2014 Tumblr. (For the record, Tumblr is now one of the chillest places left on the internet, because so few fucks are left to give.)

I think part of it is the anonymity. The dehumanizing disconnection of the separation of screens and miles. Louis CK, before he was cancelled, had a great point about cyberbullying, and why it's so much more savage than kids are IRL. When you pick on someone in person and you are confronted with seeing the pain you caused them, for most sane people it causes negative feedback and you become disgusted with your actions and eventually learn to stop being a shithead. Online, at best you can "break the wrist, walk away".

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At worst, you can become addicted to "clout chasing" and the psychological thrill of being cheered on by your social ingroup. It's even worse if you feel like it's not bullying and your actions are justified because whoever you've targeted is a bad person so you don't have to feel bad about what you do to them. This is where reductive, unhelpful catchphrases like "punch a nazi" come in. For every argument, one or both sides have convinced themselves that the other side is subhuman because their beliefs are so disgusting. And sometimes it's even true! A lot of times, especially these days, people really are acting like animals or worse online. Entire disinformation engines are roaring day and night, churning out garbage and cluttering the social consciousness. (Kojima talked about this bit, too, way back in MGS2. As if I wasn't already in danger of losing my thread through this.)

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The human brain was not built to live like this. You can't wake up every morning, roll over and open your phone, and be immediately faced with a tidal wave of anger and indignity. It wasn't built to be aware of fully how horrible the world is at any moment ALL AT ONCE, ALL THE TIME. And you will be. Because of another way that our brain works – the way we are more likely to share negative opinions. And because of the cottage industry built on farming outrage clicks, and because of constant performative activism.

It's not that I don't agree that being informed is important.

It's not that I don't agree that the causes people get riled up about are important.

They are. They absolutely are.

But we can't keep living like this. The constant, unending flood of tragedy, arguments, and hot takes. How much of the negativity we associate with online culture is the product of this feedback loop? What if the rise of doomer culture has been, if not entirely created by, has been nourished and exacerbated by our hostile attitudes toward each other? Incels and TERFs, white supremacists, radfems, tankies and Trumpers – it seems like on every side of every issue, there are people simultaneously getting it wrong in multiple directions at once and there are more being radicalized every day. They are the toxic waste left behind by the state of discourse. And any hill is a hill worth dying on.

So what am I actually advocating? I don't know. There are a lot of fights going on right now that are important and we can't just climb into bunkers and ignore our problems hoping that Norman Reedus and his fine ass are going to leave the shit we need on our doorsteps. We need to find the strength to carry those hypothetical packages for ourselves sometimes - and hopefully, for others as well. Humans are social creatures. We need interaction and enrichment.

We need love.

So just try to remember the connections between humanity. Try to put more good stuff into the world when you can. Share more shitposts and memes. Tell your friends and family that you love them. Share good news when you hear it. Go on a weird fucking tangent about Death Stranding. Find a way to "be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes."

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#death stranding #hideo kojima #video games #cancel culture #essay #oc

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

MLValentines2k20 9. Cupid

Playing catch-up a little bit; I still have one more of these I want to finish before I call it done.

“Jagged,” Luka sighed, hands on his hips as he surveyed the set before him. “You know I usually trust your judgement, but I think your designer’s lost her mind this time.” He’d never met Jagged’s favorite designer, but Jagged had insisted they bring her in for this album cover. Jagged raved about her, but Luka generally tuned him out after the first few sentences. Jagged really only had two modes: total enthusiasm or absolute distaste. Either way, Luka always took his opinions with a grain of salt.

XY had bitched about her, but Luka had ignored that too, inferring from it only that the designer was attractive and that she’d had enough taste to shoot XY down. Luka hadn’t said anything, though. Speaking badly about the boss’s son was frowned upon even for up and coming rock stars. Unless Jagged decided to go independent and took Luka with him, they both had to put up with both Bob Roth and XY for now.

Jagged unknowingly mimicked Luka’s pose, giving away his uncertainty even though his words were confident. “Just...wait. Have a little faith. Let’s hear her out, I’m sure Marinette has a plan.”

“Her plan better not involve making my album look like a perfume ad, Jagged.” Luka replied, wrinkling his nose.

“I have asked you repeatedly to call me Dad,” Jagged said absently.

“This is a disaster!” wailed a voice from the other side of the room. Luka and Jagged both looked that way to see a young lady in a business suit with her hands buried in her blue-black hair as she stared at the same set they’d been staring at. “This isn’t what I requested at all! This will never work, it’ll look like a perfume ad! How did this happen?”

“But Marinette,” said a saccharine voice that made Luka cringe. He couldn’t see the speaker but that voice made his skin crawl. “This is exactly what you asked for. I followed your directions.” The words that followed were smug. “To the letter.”

“Oh my—” The young woman sighed, taking her hands out of her hair and straightening her back. She unbuttoned the coat of her suit and slipped it off, tossing it over the back of a chair and began unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “Right. Okay. This is not happening. Jagged and Luka will be here any minute and we’re going to do this shoot and it’s going to look amazing, and not like it belongs on the front of a Valentine’s card. When I was talking about Cupid, I meant the mythical Cupid, Lila, you know, the hot young guy with the bow, the literal embodiment of love and desire? NOT the chubby little baby cupid that sits on a cloud. You said you understood. Did you even look at the pictures I sent you?”

“But, Marinette, your notes said—”

“Forget it,” Marinette said briskly, stepping up to the set under the lights. “I don’t have time for your excuses. I have to fix this.” She started ripping out the clouds. “Do we have any paint? Because there is no way we are photographing Luka Couffaine, the hottest rock star in the country right now, on this.”

Holy hell, she was gorgeous, bold and determined and in charge, her feet planted as she reached up and pulled another piece of cotton batting down. She waved at the baby blue background. “Someone get me some black paint.”��

A hand waved in front of his face and he became aware of Jagged calling his name. He blinked and looked back at Jagged. “That’s your designer?” Luka asked inexplicably breathless.

“Best in the business,” Jagged said proudly. “Come on, wipe the drool off your face and I’ll introduce you.”

Luka very much wanted to be introduced. He also wanted her phone number and a personal guided tour of the nearest supply closet.

“Listen,” Jagged said, grabbing his arm and turning him so that the two men were eye to eye. “You watch how you treat her. I can make another son but I will never find another designer with that kind of talent, and if you piss her off I will put you right back on that boat with your mother where I found you, understand?

“Love you too, Dad,” Luka muttered, and Jagged apparently took that for agreement, hauling Luka forwards with him.

“Marinette!” he called, and Marinette turned, a pretty smile lighting her face.

“Jagged!” Then she caught sight of Luka and her eyes widened slightly, the smile dropping immediately. “Mr. Couffaine!”

“Luka, this is Marinette, the most rock ‘n roll designer you’ll ever meet.” Jagged looped one arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “Tell us what you’ve got planned for us, Mari.”

“Actually—well, I—” She only fumbled for a moment before she got her bearings back and straightened, stepping out from Jagged’s arm to turn to Luka with a professional air that didn’t make her one bit less attractive. Luka blinked at the not-quite-fake smile she gave him, absently noting the light smattering of freckles across her nose. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Couffaine, it seems there was a bit of a, er...misunderstanding and the set up is all wrong. I apologize for taking up your time but I’ll have this fixed as quickly as possible. In the meantime, is there anything we could get you while you wait? Would you maybe like a snack?”

Jagged stepped on his foot before he could answer. It didn’t do much thanks to Luka’s heavy boots but it did remind him of Jagged’s threat. Not that that was necessary. Jagged was the one renowned for losing his shit in public, not Luka. No matter how much he really did want this particular snack, no one would know. Besides, he wasn’t XY. The woman was here to do a job, not entertain Luka’s fantasies, and he needed to get his mind off her very pretty mouth and back on the job.

Before he could come up with a professionally appropriate answer, though, another girl popped up at Marinette’s elbow. “Mr. Couffaine, if you’d like to come with me I’d be happy to make sure we find you something satisfying while Ms. Dupain-Cheng fixes her mistake.”

Luka recoiled slightly; this was the saccharine voice he’d heard before and it was even less pleasant up close. “No, thank you,” he said automatically, barely even glancing at her. “I’m fine.” He looked back at Marinette. “It’s fine, I don’t mind waiting. Honestly I’m relieved, I was a little worried when I saw the set.”

“Of course you would be,” the other girl said sympathetically, and Luka, who hadn’t moved his eyes from Marinette, saw the designer visibly grind her teeth.

Still, her tone was entirely professional as she said, “Lila, please go get us the black couch from the casting room, the one with the silver studs. I’m sure with your persuasive talents you can find some help to get it here.”

“Of course, Mar—Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” Lila said, and Luka doesn’t even have to look at her to know that her bright, helpful tone was completely insincere. She brushed past him, her fingers lingering on his wrist for a moment. He twitched it away without a glance in her direction.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything, Mr. Couffaine,” Marinette said, turning back to Luka. “Then if you and Jagged wouldn’t mind waiting, I hope I’ll have this cleared up shortly.”

“I have no doubt,” Luka replied, with a slow grin. “And please call me Luka, I hate being Mr. Couffaine.”

“Of course,” Marinette smiled. “Feel free to call me Marinette. Jagged certainly does.” She made a cheeky face at his father, and Luka missed what Jagged said in response because Marinette laughed, and it was a beautiful sound and that was a real smile on her face and...wow, those eyes.

His heart was suddenly pounding. Those eyes were familiar. Did...did he know her? He watched her, fascinated for a different reason, as she went over to take the can of paint from the assistant who’d brought it. She went with purpose to the backdrop, standing back for a moment as if to consider. Then she took a wide brush and began painting across the blue background in broad strokes that she left ragged at the edges.

“I can change the color in post,” she mumbled. “Psyche’s lamp would be shining from...here, so this area stays light.”

Jagged, easily bored as always, excused himself, leaving Luka there alone as Marinette made quick work of the backdrop. When she was done the smell of paint hung thick in the air but the scene was much better. A few more changes and the perfume ad look was replaced by a much grittier but still fantastical scene. The fluffy carpet was gone from the floor, revealing a hardwood platform. Marinette had taken some of the prop arrows and broken them in half (and watching her snap them like so many twigs had set his blood rushing again). Then she turned to Luka with a wide, much more sincere smile than she’d had before. “All right, I think we’re ready for our Cupid.”

Oh...right. That was him. Luka sighed, but unbuttoned his shirt and took it off as he’d been instructed and removed his heavy boots, leaving him in his ripped jeans embellished with chains. He’d been through hair and makeup before they came.

“We’ll start with you on the floor,” Marinette directed. “If Lila actually manages to get us the couch,” her tone seemed to indicate she thought it unlikely, “We can try that later and see what we like best. Vincent, can you show him where please?”

Luka followed the photographer’s directions and waited while they adjusted the lights. “I should warn you,” Luka said, glancing up at Marinette with a hint of trepidation. “I’m not a model or an actor. I’m not actually good at this part.”

“I’ve seen you perform,” Marinette smiled reassuringly, and why were those eyes so familiar? “I’m not worried. If you can evoke that much emotion on stage I’m sure we can pull some of it out here.”

Genuinely flattered, Luka smiled up at her. Marinette patted his bare shoulder. “It’s just another kind of performance,” she told him, and then she seemed to grow flustered, snatching her hand back. Luka couldn’t help a smirk. Marinette turned away, cheeks pink.

Then it was business as usual, trying different poses while trying not to look bored out of his mind. Watching Marinette skitter about was entertaining, at least, but he couldn’t follow her constantly.

“He is so stiff,” Vincent complained, straightening and putting a hand on his hip. “Marinetta, can you not inspire the boy a little more?” Luka winced and sighed. Well, he warned her.

“Let’s take a break,” Marinette said, looking completely unbothered by this turn of events.

Luka sighed, sitting up and propping his elbows on his knees as she approached. “Told you,” he shrugged. Marinette knelt on the floor next to him and pulled out her phone. “Cupid brings love to everyone,” she told him, “but he never finds love himself until he meets Psyche. But he won’t let her see his true self until she comes into his room with a lamp while he’s sleeping. That’s what we’re going for with this shoot.”

“Right,” Luka answered automatically. This had all been explained in the pitch, though he hadn’t paid all that much attention at the time. He actually didn’t get a whole lot of say in his album covers.

“Obviously we’re taking some liberties here,” Marinette continued. “Instead of being passive and asleep, you, as our Cupid, are finally ready to show your lover your true self, so you’re waiting for her to come in so you can really let her see you, and in doing so, allow yourself fall for her.”

His own music began to play from the speakers on her phone. She turned the volume all the way up, frowning in concentration. “There,” she said, looking up from the phone to meet his eyes. “The way you play the bridge, that’s what we’re looking for. That’s what inspired the shoot.”

Luka pursed his lips. The song was all about being ready to find love again after heartbreak, and the bridge was about that moment when you lock eyes with someone and choose to either look away or let yourself fall. It actually fit very well with the story Marinette had told him. He nodded slowly. “Play it again please.”

Marinette complied, and Luka closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the music. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Marinette. Her lips parted in something like surprise, but she didn’t turn her gaze from him as she nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s it. Can you do that for the photos?”

“Can I look at you?” Luka asked. “It’s kind of hard just...staring into the lights.”

Marinette’s cheeks pinked, but she nodded. “Okay. I’ll get Vincent to tell me where he wants you to look, and I’ll stand there. Don’t worry about the camera, just listen to the music and keep your eyes on me, okay? Vincent will do the rest.”

He felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile, and had to take a breath to compose himself. “Yeah, okay.” Marinette smiled at him and again he was hit with that wave of familiarity. Luka tilted his head slightly. “Have we met before?” he asked. “You just...you look familiar.”

Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she looked mildly embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“So we have met?” Luka asked, a little too eagerly. “It’s just—I swear I remember your eyes.”

Marinette blushed again, maybe even a little darker than before. “I went to school with Juleka. We, um, met on your mother’s boat once the year you left with Jagged. The music festival? You played with Juleka’s band and...I was there.”

Luka’s brow creased as he thought back to that day. “Ma-ma-marinette,” he whispered, a broad smile spreading across his face.

Marinette made a face. “Oh good, you do remember.”

Oh, he remembered. He absolutely remembered her now, as a skinny little kid with those beautiful eyes huge in her face as she babbled that they were ready for him to rehearse. She’d been so cute then, and he’d chatted her up a bit between the rehearsal and the concert, but then Jagged had come to the boat and everything had come out, and his whole life had been turned upside down, and he hadn’t seen her again. “Wow,” he breathed. “You’ve come a long way.”

“So have you,” Marinette pointed out, giving him a hint of that cheeky smile she had turned on Jagged. “You’re a big rock star now.”

“Oh, well I...yeah,” Luka slumped his shoulders a little bit, feeling his own face heat a little. “It’s been...well it’s been a trip, that’s for sure.”

Marinette smiled. “You’re doing great. Are you ready to try again?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Luka said, relaxing back into the reclining pose he’d been in. “Ready when you are.”

“Okay.” She got up. “Hey Vincent?”

Luka watched her, still marvelling that this confident little dynamo was the stuttering, blushing girl he’d met way back then.

Well. She still blushed, he thought to himself with a smirk.

“All right, we’re ready, Luka,” Marinette called, walking to a point off to his left. “Just like we talked about.” She played the song again, and Luka closed his eyes, getting into the music. Then he lifted his head and looked at Marinette, and she smiled. “Go, Vincent,” she said. “Just keep your eyes on me, Luka.”

Not a problem at all. The rest of the photo shoot was easier. Occasionally Marinette moved, directing Luka’s gaze to a different spot, while Vincent clicked away. Luka had long since stopped listening to the music she played. For one thing, he had a new song taking shape in his head...and for another, it was getting increasingly easier to look at Marinette like she was the girl of his dreams.

Marinette was thrilled with the outcome of the photo shoot as she stood over Vincent’s shoulder, watching him click through the proofs. She knew immediately which series she would be using. The pose where Luka was half-reclined, looking off camera with an enraptured, expectant expression. He held one of the broken arrows in his hand, the point against his heart, ready to stab himself with his own arrow if it meant finding love again. She’d add wings made of light in post that would look electric against the dark background. She would darken the pale sky blue on the outside of the dark area she had painted to something that harmonized with Luka’s dyed hair, and then she would add a light source here for Psyche’s lamp…

It would be perfect. Not exactly like her sketch thanks to Lila’s sabotage, but just as good, if not better. She nodded in satisfaction, and went to tell Luka they had what they needed.

He was hovering nearby, his shirt back on but only half buttoned.

“You did great,” she told him, smiling. “I think we got everything we need. I’ll have the proofs in by the end of the week, but as long as you’re satisfied then I can say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thanks,” Luka said, ruffling his hair as she was sure he’d been itching to do since the whole thing started. Most of it fell right back into place, stiff with product. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “So do you actually work for me, or…”

“I work for Jagged most of the time,” Marinette replied, already checking her schedule on her phone for the next thing she had to do. “I suppose you could say I’m on retainer with him in a way. I work directly for him on his personal looks and concert gear when he needs me, and the rest of the time I run my own business. I’m not affiliated with the label unless Jagged brings me in for a project like this as an independent consultant.” She gestured vaguely, indicating the shoot. “So today, technically I work for Bob Roth,” both of them made a face, “But Jagged calls the shots.”

Luka nodded slowly, and then ducked his head a bit, hunching his shoulders so he didn’t tower quite so far over her. “Well then. First let me say that Jagged said he’d kick me off the tour if I upset you.” Marinette gasped and Luka chuckled. “He told me that he could make another son but he’d never find another designer like you, and having met you now I completely agree with him.” Marinette sputtered, having no idea how to respond to that, and to her embarrassment Luka chuckled through his nose at her. “Okay now I really believe you’re that Ma-ma-marinette.” Marinette pouted, folding her arms as Luka continued. “I’m just telling you this because I want to make sure you know there’s no pressure on you for what I’m about to ask, and if you say no I won’t breathe a word about it ever again. Okay?”

Marinette blinked. “Okay.”

“So...with that said, I’d really like to take you out sometime. Would you go on a date with me, Marinette?” Luka grinned, and it wasn’t at all like the rock star smirk he wore for his fans. It was sweet and hopeful and more like the boy from the boat than anything Marinette had seen since that day so long ago, when he’d teased her gently and played music just for her. She’d never forgotten that day and his kindness and she’d been happy to see him doing so well as he followed his dreams.

Marinette found herself smiling back at him. “I’d um...I’d be open to that, if Jagged’s okay with it. You might not be my boss but you’re still the boss’s son, and…” She shrugged helplessly.

“I get it,” Luka smiled. “You’re a professional, I know that.” He raised his chin slightly to look over her head. “Hey, Dad!” he called. Marinette’s eyes widened and she turned around to see Jagged poking his head back into the studio. “Can I date Marinette?”

“Oh God,” Marinette whispered, anticipating Jagged’s reaction.

“Just wait until we announce our engagement,” Luka chuckled as Jagged’s whoop carried across the studio, the man himself barreling towards them.

Marinette looked back at him in surprise. “You’re sure of yourself.”

Luka’s grin only widened. “I’m sure about you. Pick you up at eight tomorrow?”

Marinette managed a weak “O-okay,” and then Jagged was on them, and nobody else got a word in edgewise for quite some time.

#quickspins #mlvalentines2k20 #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #papa stone #uncle jagged #what the heart wants

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